


for all that we haunt ourselves

by Cassia_Bea



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon Divergence, Good Boi Nero, Mystery, Other, Poor kid though, Questionable choices and a bit no-no bad Vergil, Sorry Not Sorry, Suspense, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, Vergil is a hot mess, Where is Dante you ask?, but what else is new
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:54:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 34,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27715067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cassia_Bea/pseuds/Cassia_Bea
Summary: As long as Nero could remember, the basement was off-limits.For everyone who knew the devil hunter, Vergil always had two swords.(Nero was eighteen when he realized he knew little about Vergil)
Relationships: Dante & Vergil (Devil May Cry), Dante/Vergil (Devil May Cry), Nero & Vergil (Devil May Cry)
Comments: 37
Kudos: 129





	1. As Long as He Remembers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not supposed to write this and I can feel my other fic babies glaring at me. 
> 
> English is not my first language and this is not beta-read. Everything is Capcom's property except this story.

As long as Nero could remember, the basement was off-limits.

The door was locked. He noticed the intricate seals when he was older. It didn’t take long to know his father had placed them there. The runes too complicated for him. It was useless to ask Vergil about them. He always brushed Nero’s inquiries off, resuming to whatever tomes he was immersed with. Sneaking to his father’s study would be a death sentence, Nero very much wanted to live a bit more, thank you very much.

But Nero wasn’t himself if he weren’t anything but stubborn. He took a different approach, one that his father had to oblige. No matter how begrudgingly. His father had his own principles, after all. Something that Nero used against him. There was smugness in his eyes when Vergil noticed the advanced works. Still technically a child, Nero attacked the books with frenzy. Forcing himself to read tons and tons of paragraphs. Even long into the night with little light to help him. It paid off as he could decipher more than the basics, breezed through the home-works Vergil gave. Three days were all it took for him to finish the equivalent of half a semester.

Vergil frowned, obviously knowing what Nero was playing at. Yet he couldn’t waste such talent, it would be foolish and while Nero may not be a prodigy, his own child had put himself in a position where he piqued Vergil’s interest. So, Vergil let him bask in victory as he slid another book from the higher shelf. Again, his son ate through it in record time. Then he gave him another one, that one too was rapidly finished. They kept at this game for months until two years later, Vergil raised an eyebrow at his son.

The bandages adorned his face and arms, his right arm glowing faintly under the blanket. Shame and sheepishness permeated in spades from Nero, and Vergil couldn’t help but reciprocate the smug look he had sported. It irked Nero, he grumbled and made to snuggle deeper into the blanket. Not caring about the soreness lancing through his body.

Vergil shrugged, then patted his head before closing the door. He walked down the stairs to the basement. Burnt marks decorated the wood and the smell of smokes still lingered. The seals were intact – as perfect as he first casted them. He had to give it to Nero for not being zapped at first contact; his son had advanced more and more. When Nero had tried, the man didn’t give a warning as the tween’s healing could cover him. It was admittedly cruel, but Nero was as hard-headed as he was. Fitting was the word as his son tasted the brunt of his own arrogance.

It would take more than mere reading and small practices to undo Vergil’s work.

\---

Lady laughed when Nero told her.

“Seriously, kid, why did you think it was a good idea?” She guffawed as her hand slapped Nero’s back. He winced.

“I was curious!” He pouted, “What’s the deal with it anyway?”

The woman raised her hands, “Beats me,” she shrugged.

“Come on, Lady,” Nero crowded her space, “Can you tell me anything? _Anything_ at all?”

“Look,” she pushed his shoulder, “Whatever it is down there, it must be dangerous for you, kiddo. Your dear old dad may not look like it, but he cares for your safety.” Nero’s face scrunched and was anything but. “Alright, _maybe_ allowing yourself got almost singed was a huge oversight, but trust me,” Lady patted his cheek, “Vergil do look out for you.”

The boy huffed, still miffed by the previous ordeal. He glanced to the upper floor, where he could see his father’s door – closed, of course – before plopping back down onto the sofa. “When is he coming back?” He asked Lady.

“In two days,” she said and made to go to the kitchen, “He specifically left me with a note to make sure you go to school.” Nero groaned, that was only one time he accidentally missed the bus. “I only have my motorcycle, so hope you like the wind, Nero,” she winked.

Nero stood at the kitchen island and saw her opening the drawer. “Father doesn’t like it when I eat take-outs,” he leaned against the table.

“Do you know how to cook?” Lady leafed through the pamphlets.

“No…?” Nero scratched his cheek.

“Good, so do I. Take-out it is, then,” she grabbed the telephone on the desk. “Relax, kid,” she waved, “Chinese food for the night won’t kill you. Tomorrow we can drop by the market to grab those microwaved things and some produce. At least, that sounds a bit healthier, right?”

She dialled the numbers and rattled off the menu. Nero wouldn’t know what to choose so she took over. The boy wasn’t a picky eater, a good thing and Lady suspected his father had drilled it into his head. They lazed around the shop for the rest of the evening. Watching television and making bets on the football game until the delivery person knocked. The steaming dumpling and fried rice with some beef noodle were enough to make them dropped everything. Attacking the food with relish.

Nero sometimes would shift to straighten himself and clumsily dabbed his mouth. It was endearing how much he tried to remember etiquette. He was still a boy though, and Lady didn’t much care about it as much as Vergil. She slurped noisily, making Nero raised his brow before encouraging him to do the same. His noodles slapped him on the nose and they both giggled. The plates were emptied as the evening rolled in, both tapping their stomachs when they were full. Nero’s collar was messy, sauce splattered on the front. Her ‘colleague’ would have their heads at the mess and discarded plastic cups if he were there.

“Alright, go change your clothes, and wipe your mouth now,” Lady stood up. “You have any homework?” She stretched and reiterated, “I mean, your _school_ ones, not that magic thingy.”

“It’s called scribing, Lady,” Nero huffed. “I have two left by the way, calculus and history.” He went upstairs.

“Gosh, don’t expect help from me, okay?” She called after him.

To which Nero just smirked and stuck out his tongue before disappearing into his room. Lady shook her head. The clock was still at half past seven, that was more than enough spare time to clean her guns and Kalina Ann. Laying them down, the huntress begun to disassemble each – leisurely slow. The table was already covered with newspapers. She may be regarded to be familiar and close with the shop’s owner, but there were lines to not cross. The man had always had a stick up his ass and Lady didn’t want to spend money on fixing _his_ furniture.

So, she carefully made sure to not let the grease and oil stained the wood. Some minutes later, a beer was beside her. The can sweating and its content refreshing. They were free for Lady since almost no one else actually drank them on daily basis.

As Lady drank, she swiftly lifted it towards the basement before downing it in one go.

\---

For everyone who knew the devil hunter, Vergil always had two swords.

A sleek katana which brimmed with power and a claymore that sat starkly on his back. The two weapons were straight juxtaposition of each other. Lady could never think of them as anything than a hindrance. Probably an accident waiting to happen. With how the two blades crowded the man.

After the shitshow that was Temennigru, they formed an unlikely partnership. Their initial wary alliance morphing into mutual respect. If not as fellow human and half-human, then as devil hunters. She still couldn’t believe he actually named the shop after her consoling words. Something that Lady had thought he ignored. The man had been too invested with the aftermath. Left her standing in the ruins. Lady had had no one to bury and she drove away to collect herself.

They didn’t make any promise to meet again, but one day Lady decided to drop by. Not without any business though. She had a feeling Vergil wasn’t the type to sit around and chat about inane things. The reward was split evenly, they both coming back drenched and smelly. Lady was willing to stay like that until she got back home before Vergil handed her a towel and pointed out where the bathroom was. It was the kindest thing he did, and Lady was down to not having to use her own water. She visited the shop more often from then on. Bringing not only assistance requests, but also some demonic arms that she couldn’t utilize. Vergil always gave her good prices; he had a keen eye when it concerned this part of the business.

The shop was filled with cabinets and drawers, mostly she knew to be forms and letters for an extermination or something similar. There were several items that were plain jarring. The Devil Arms and other cursed trinkets decorated the place. Not as obnoxious at the same time as it was a flair. It took a few more visits after that she finally noticed the new basement. The latch still shining and the wood freshly glossed, compared to the overall old building.

“New storage room?” She tilted her head at it.

Vergil hummed, flipping through the ledger. “Something like that,” he said and drank his coffee.

“Must have cost a lot,” Lady shrugged and swirled her beer.

“It was manageable,” Vergil said while writing on a slip of paper.

The paper was then slid across the desk. Lady picked it up and after a thorough look, nodded. Satisfied as always was the case when she sold mission spoils to him. They shook hands to seal the deal and Lady got up.

When she opened the door to leave, Lady caught his hand touching the picture frames near him. Eyes hooded and expression muted. She stepped outside before Vergil caught her looking.

\---

Trish didn’t know whether she should be grateful or worried that Vergil spared her.

The cold fury he had directed at her was enough to paralyze her, yet before either of the two swords pierce her, he stopped. There was a minute twitching, frowning, then finally, sighing as he put away the blades. It was strange, something weirdly animated.

Her mast- no, creator, had been pushed back yet again. Resealed to the Underworld. That must be a huge blow to be defeated by Sparda and his halfling get in that matter. Trish couldn’t care enough now that she understood Mundus was only toying with her. It was… refreshing to finally be rid of his incessant sermons. That false, egomaniac god. Now fully in control and her own self, Trish dared herself to follow after Vergil. Hopping nonchalantly into the boat. Vergil frowned at her over his shoulder but kept silent the whole journey back.

She still couldn’t help but feel the Son of Sparda was having massive conversations in his own mind though. While Trish knew he didn’t intend on finishing her anytime soon – he only needed small opening to cleave her head off after all – there was something in the way his movement had been halted. As if there was _something_ stopping him. Trish couldn’t exactly explain what, electing to drop the matter altogether after. Not deeming it too important to mull over for her continued health.

When they reached Devil May Cry, Lady had raised her gun. A young boy standing behind her, not exactly scared, but stayed peeking nonetheless. She almost raised up to the threat (couldn’t exactly blame her for being a bit jumpy) and if it weren’t for Vergil’s threat to both, the shop would have been wrecked. Both had stood down, Trish lowering her hand as Lady clicking the gun safety on again. The boy had then shyly approached Vergil. He shared the same traits and Trish could tell right off the bat that he wasn’t from Lady. The smell was different, still human, in the undertone. It was much more muted, compared to the other woman’s hotbloodedness. Along with it, also laced the distinct iron strength belonging to a high demon lord. Specifically, the likes of Sparda and Mundus.

No mother was in sight. Dead or estranged? Who knows, Trish certainly couldn’t care enough. She didn’t want to reenact having her life endangered a second time. So, she stayed on Vergil’s good grace and helped around to show her gratitude before Vergil had enough. Trish was damn glad when she finally was left to her own devices. Occasionally though, she would visit the shop, not for Vergil but for Nero. The kid was interesting. Too smart for his own good and following after his father in the brain department. She goaded him to play and roughhouse, pitying that he would be turning into a gangly nerd if he drowned in books all the time. Luckily, Nero was too easy to mess with and had no qualms defying his father on the right occasions. Lady’s interference saved the two of them from getting a promised throwdown from the man. She and her were not at best friend level yet it was close. The two were the only ones Vergil deemed ‘worthy’ and ‘safe’ around his own son. Leaving him in Lady’s care whenever he had to take longer trips.

It was during one of those days that Nero mentioned ‘the basement’ that had a bored Trish perked up.

“I’m not going to help you on that, brat,” Lady sighed as she leaned on the sofa. Her eyes followed the boy skipping down two steps at a time. A thick notebook and a couple of paper rolled under each arm.

“What is he doing?” Trish asked, twirling her hair.

“Nothing good,” Lady shrugged, “Hey, Nero, if you hurt yourself again, I’m telling Vergil. For real, this time.” But Nero stuck out his tongue, then hovered over the wooden door.

The demoness got up and swiftly got near that Nero jumped a bit.

“What are you up to?” She looked down, “Doing some lock picking?”

“Something cooler than that,” Nero said with a smirk, “This thing is going to be solved by me, then finally I’ll get to one-up my old man.”

“Kid, you are way over your head if you think like that,” Lady called out but made no move to peel herself from the sofa. “Honestly, it’s a family tradition by this point.”

The two ignored her. Lady made a gesture to wash her hands off this; she wasn’t going to get involved. No way, she had enough shit to deal with. Also, getting on Vergil’s shit list was a no-no. The man was anything but merciful. Especially when it concerned his territory and patience. Trish should be fine, she was a demon, she could heal.

“Out of the way,” Nero heard the blonde before he got pulled away. He stumbled and stepped on his own papers. The boot’s print marring the letters.

“Hey! Those are my notes!” He huffed at Trish whose back turned. She waved him away, hand rubbing her chin as she scrutinized the seals.

Hmm. Interesting.

They were ancient and powerful. Something that she distantly remembered seeing during her brief time in the Underworld. Mundus had created her in his deepest chambers, after all. Forged with old magic and given life as easy as breathing air. She still felt the tingling effect that particular event had been. There was a reason why the Prince of Darkness could make Hell folded to him. He had both strength and power to back his claim to the throne. His greed was limitless as was his ego, and hilariously, Sparda had singlehandedly banished him. Locking him away. Yet again, it didn’t completely diminish his superiority to the other denizens.

The pulses were there, licking at Trish’s hand as she hovered over the latticework. Wisps of leeching purple encircling her fingers. Dormant but alert. Vergil was quite the master spellwork. It seemed that he had formed a network that could discern his own blood and a complete stranger. That level of ‘sentience’ was rare – a mimicry of a sentinel. An impressive achievement given how young the half-demon was. It seduced her to try to breach it. Trish was also a young demon and a wily one. At least, she perceived herself as such. So, it was with a smirk of mischief that she started to disentangle the work. Fusing her own power and carefully recounting the familiarity of spells and magic.

Nero had gone silent. Kneeling in awe as she went on longer than him. The progress was slow, yet Nero could see it working. He hugged his notes tighter. Anticipation pooling deep. He was borderline brimming and shaking with excitement. When Lady hadn’t heard any small yelp or groans, she too became interested. The human stayed a bit farther where she watched. Crossing her arms while Trish kept on weaving through.

There was a small triumph when she could feel the first barrier dropping when she flinched. That was enough to cause a chain reaction. The sizzling pain blinded her. Sulfur and ozone suffocating her fall into darkness.

When she came to, Vergil was there. Cold fury and metallic lividness dawning on the room. From her peripheral, Nero was hunched at the corner. Rubbing his arm and looked every bit like he wanted to flee. Lady’s hand stayed on his neck. There wasn’t much that she could say after Vergil rained swords on her. For once, the wrecked area was Vergil’s own doing. There was the dread of an apocalypse. Storming in his eyes. Trish had every right to be scared, her instincts telling her to not let herself yield. To run and die trying.

And just like Mallet, his other hand stopped Yamato. The katana mere millimeters from her jugular. Vergil glanced at the glowing door behind them before he sighed. The look he gave left her feeling like an insect that had been spared from stomping.

“Leave,” Vergil said.

Lady grabbed Trish’s shoulder and dragged her outside. There was an exasperation in the gesture, like this was a daily occurrence. It polarized Trish’s fading dread. As the door closed, Trish could hear Vergil walking to Nero. “Go to your room,” he said with an indifferent tone.

It only sounded disappointed.

Trish thought Nero was lucky he was the half-demon’s flesh and blood.

\---

“What happened back then?” Lady asked between bites.

It was the weekends. Five months after the whole fiasco. Trish had admittedly found she rather crashed at Lady’s home than going to the shop. Unfortunately, she had to – Morrison was easier to find there. The shop’s owner was nowhere near fuming, but Trish thought she should weather it out a bit more. That was the second time she got her life spared. By the same person.

“What do you mean?” She drank her soda.

“Oh, come on, you know what I meant. That time you thought it was a brilliant idea to tamper that clearly screamed ‘do not touch’,” the woman pointed at her. “I’m not blind, I saw you stopping for a moment. You look… surprised. Like being thrown off-guard. I know that it wasn’t because you failed, Nero had made enough spectacles on that. But you stopping was what made the alarms went off.”

How observant of her. Trish leaned her head against her knuckles. “You are right,” she said and sipped her soda more, “There was… something. I can’t really describe it but well, my sense picked up a distinct smell, so to speak.”

“Smell?”

“Not quite in a human sense. The smell pinged on my radar. It was sharp,” Trish looked at Lady, “I encountered it back on the island.”

Mundus had been ecstatic when Vergil arrived. Giving free reins to the inhabitants to attack. Battling and goading him upwards. That _smell_ was prevalent, Trish had noticed it was at its strongest when it was near Vergil. Whatever it had been was enough to make Vergil seethed when he finally faced Mundus.

“So, you think Vergil is doing something like Mundus?” Lady didn’t know much about that one particular trip. There was no idle talk happening after and most of the tidbits she got from Nero, who arguably still only received a spotty version. Now that she thought about it, it was also around the time the basement was ‘fortified’. Nero was getting bigger, after all, and he liked to nose around.

Trish shook her head, “No,” she said, and Lady realized she let out a loud breath. “It’s nothing as close to that. Trust me, I would have known. Besides, it goes against everything that he stands for,” Trish picked a cookie from the table, “He had chosen to reseal Mundus and now still living as a devil hunter. He’s no saint, but he’s doing his part like Sparda before him.”

Frowning at having her cookie jar opened, Lady hummed. She leaned back to her chair, the radio playing soft music as the two women watched the sun set from her balcony. The birds were chirping and flying home when Trish spoke again.

“The smell was faint, cut off now that the seals are back. But…” She stared at the purplish orange sky, “I realize it is everywhere on him. If you know where and how to look.”

\---

Morrison came one afternoon and took a moment before he spoke.

“Alright, be honest with me,” Morrison raised his brow which a confused Lady reciprocated. He looked around, eyeing the state of the place. “Is Vergil seeing someone?”

She choked on her beer. “Wha-“ She put the can down as some tissues were offered. “What makes you think that? And no,” her hands wiped her shirt, “He’s not. I don’t think it won’t be good for Nero’s sanity, and I’m sure as hell will be eating my own gun.” She shuddered at the thought. Romance and Vergil were water and oil, heaven and hell. The world would explode if somehow Vergil even _looked_ at someone interestedly.

Morrison raised his hands, “Just asking,” he said as he picked up the empty glass, “Feels like there’s an extra person here. You know what I mean,” his eyes gleamed. Teasing.

“God, Morrison, stop giving me nightmares,” Lady said. She rubbed her face while Morrison chuckled. The man picked several more of the empty glasses and put them away at the sink. He was collecting the magazines when Lady talked again, “Where did that come from anyway?” She grabbed the pile from his awaiting hands.

“Intuition,” he shrugged, “and don’t tell me you don’t see it?” He asked. Incredulous.

Lady hummed and set to clean the place a bit. Lately, Vergil had been coming down with headaches. Enough to decommission him for days. It was only thanks to Nero’s quips that Lady even was here in the fist place. The boy’s father had not been appreciative. He stood still, rigidity in place. Only the slight sway and dented hand railings gave him away. Used to his (ridiculous) pride, Lady had then elected to stay. Keeping watch around the shop as Nero went out. She was more like a secretary. An underpaid one. The clients were few and far in-between though. Always was around the height of winter as humans huddled inside their homes, only going out for necessities. Lessening the chance on coming across errant demons or doing something stupid like rituals.

It was completely logical if Morrison thought there was… someone else around. Kind of. At least, she understood where he was coming from. He knew the shop enough to spot any new differences. For one, there was the accumulation of extra everything. A third chair at the small dining table, a new bookshelf, another chair beside Vergil’s old one at the desk, some new set of clothes that were _definitely_ not Nero’s or even remotely Vergil’s (the overbearing red was so unlike Vergil), heck, there was even a new toothbrush in the bathroom. Not to mention the appearance of several food that Vergil had abhorred but seemed to take a liking nowadays. Along with some new reading materials that he wouldn’t be caught dead looking in the past.

There was _newness_ strewn around the place. A forming of a second skin.

\---

Nero had picked up on something and he told Lady about it when Vergil was down again.

Lady was surprised to hear Nero muttering the same thing Trish had mentioned way back when. His demon was bristling and hissing, clearly throwing him off the loop. Regarding his own father. His own family. Being the gushingly soft person he was, despite the outward punk, Nero was not happy. For lack of a better word.

“Can you just ask him directly?”

Nero looked at her like she asked if water was wet.

“Alright, stupid question. But seriously, do you at least try?”

“… No,”

“Then why not? Kid, he’s your father. I think he’ll understand, he’s doing a fine job as yours.” Okay, maybe compared to her own experience with her own father figure, anyone to Arkham was infinitely better. Vergil was not bad though, she could see. True, he was an emotionally constipated bastard who sometimes didn’t know anything about normal human interactions, yet she could see the effort. Vergil was a perfectionist and failing his own bloodline was something of a sin for him.

“I asked Trish,” Nero crossed his arms behind his head. “She also confirmed she sensed it,” he said.

No doubt there, Trish was the demon of the two women and well, she was the closest possible answer Nero could get. Vergil was ambivalent towards the demoness – a weird turn of event, when Lady had expected he would literally exile her for being nosy. Again, Vergil was not the most forgiving type. Lady was this close to the devil hunter because she knew how to be smart. Unlike Trish (she would argue it was only marginally).

“Don’t tell him that you went to her,” Lady poked him. He tsked.

“I wish you could sense it too, Lady,” he sighed as he stared at the ceiling. “It’s very weird, the little guy inside me thinks so too,” Nero pointed to his chest. “There is like a cloak, no, scratch that, like the old man is wearing two jackets, and they are clumsily stitched together. It’s overbearingly smelled of ashen florals, but it usually gets eclipsed by father’s own. Argh,” he ruffled his head, “it’s just… well, weird! He acts like everything is normal but…” He gritted his teeth.

Lady sidled close to him and patted his shoulder, “But you wish he is more open to you. I know, kid, I know,” she rubbed the spot. Nero sighed; all the pent-up frustration diminished in one fell breath.

They stayed like that until the doorbell rang.

The delivery girl knew the address by heart now and Nero tipped her generously. She saluted him before riding away with her scooter.

“I know that I’m not a prime example, but a sick person is _not_ supposed to be eating these,” he commented. The box was put on the counter, the usual pizzas and strawberry sundaes in it. “He already has killer migraines, what the fuck is he trying to do here? Brain freeze? Clogged arteries?” Nero brought the food upstairs.

“Watch your language there, kid,” Lady wiggled her brows, “and your dear dad would not be happy you calling him ‘sick’,” she laughed when Nero glared at her.

They both knew Vergil was passed out in his bedroom. All alone in the dark. It was why Nero was the one who entered, his vision faring better than hers. Besides, Vergil during these ‘episodes’ was not completely _Vergil._ Lady didn’t want to see an absolute heathen with shining eyes honing on her from under the covers. Again.

\---

The bouts of headaches lessened as the years went. They still lingered, never truly gone, but manageable. Nero tried to steer clear when it happened. His father wasn’t at the best mood to be around during that period.

He felt his father tried to compensate the missing times with taking him on missions. When he was old enough, of course. Getting him to feel the ropes. The first time Nero defeated all the demons by himself, Vergil had patted his head. A lilt at his lips. Ghosting of a smile. It looked proud, and Nero bottled that particular memory away. Near the place where he kept the remembered face his father made when he was shown Nero’s works on spells. Back then in the past. It was hard not to covet each impressed look, each smile, each _openness_ from his father.

Like was the case when he found his talent in magic, Nero just knew he would also be good at this whole devil hunting business. So, it was with a reverent frenzy, he dove deeper. Learning and practicing and getting his ass handed to him. Nero swallowed the last one down, he knew that would come from a mile away. The hard way had always been his go-to anyway.

Yet he wasn’t completely immersed to not notice when the changes started to appear.

\---

The material ones were easy to spot. There were only him and Vergil living there, after all. Besides, Vergil placed them in the living area, visible for everyone to see.

There was a jukebox, a set of drums and electric guitar, new volumes of some car magazines, vinyl records which had little of Vergil’s taste and a fully stocked bar. They screamed of a different character – carefree, juvenile, and light. None of these things were _Vergil._ Didn’t fit his father, and more to him than anyone else. Yet it didn’t feel quite right either. There was a sense of antiquity there – too mature for Nero to appreciate. Especially the rows of liquors decorating the shelves. Neither of the two actually drank, the older Sparda preferring teas and coffees, while the younger liked sodas and still underage.

It was… weird. For lack of a better word.

And maybe because he was older; being less all over the place and slightly calmer that he tilted his head one evening. Nero had just returned from his job, soaked to the bone as he toweled off near the entrance. He stopped when he saw his father. Vergil’s feet were propped on the desk, he had his arms behind his head, and softly snoring under an opened magazine. He wasn’t even slumping in his own chair. The woods creaked less, unlike the frequently used one beside it.

Nero blinked. His father never did that, even when he was dead tired. There was always a certain level of proper primness from Vergil. It happened several times more before Nero shrugged it off. Putting it away as something insignificant.

The drinking came next.

Sometimes Nero would wake up and not see Vergil until late afternoon. Face frowning with all the telltale signs of a hungover. He knew what it looked like, Lady had it too. The want to comment was big but Nero swallowed it down. He couldn’t make it sound soft enough to not be judgmental. Couldn’t help it really, not when he knew it made the headaches worse. There were enough aspirin bottles and Vergil’s own antidotes filling the bin.

Nero blinked as he closed the door behind him. The place had become different lately.

Not messy, no, it was meticulous as ever. But there were more things, strategically scattered. Like there was the want to disregard cleanliness with the other side that disliked such state winning out. There was an unwritten rule, one unbeknownst to Nero. A geographical reformation – invisible linings marring the shop. It was gradual, and only now Nero saw. Visible, glaringly obvious and magnified.

Admittedly, Nero had elected to go solo. Ever since his father made the place strange. It was not the best thing he knew; Lady threw him unapproving glances every now and then. But he couldn’t care enough, for his own sanity’s sake. His father became distant, more closed off. An iron control on his mask Nero was jealous and infuriated with. Their relationship was strained. The two parties circling around each other with a wider distance as the days went.

Trying his luck on the sealed basement was a no-no. When in the past, Vergil would only huff and leave him at it, he glared at Nero now. A challenging glint, a warning should he dare. It dashed Nero’s own tendency to win. Something about the way his father looked had set alarm bells. His demon growled but knew that it wouldn’t do to create war with its own kin. Nero never wanted that to happen. Over something as small as this. So, he backed off, and the matter pushed to the dusty recess of his mind. 

\---

Nero was eighteen when he realized he knew little about Vergil.

It was an accident. Mostly. His father had been nursing another drink then locking himself underground. Leaving Nero to scrounge around for his woefully late preparation. The request concerned something along the line of the undead – necromancy. Nero _hated_ this type, postponing until just two days left. Alone and not knowing where to start, he went to browse their library.

Let it be known that procrastination was a jealous mistress. Only an hour in and he got distracted. There was a small section, right at the foot of the innermost shelf. The books were dusty, the leather covers soft with age, and the pages crinkled. His hand felt several burned edges. Thin soot trapped between the spines. Nero couldn’t make out the titles, the once-golden ink faded.

Crossing his legs, Nero hunched over. Most were arguably journals, handwritten and mostly talked about mundane things. A few had information about herbs and poultices, those Nero thought must have once belonged to a witch. What with the thorough charms’ explanations and several hexes with intricate spells. He was more fascinated when he reached the last page.

A name was signed. At the bottom left.

_Eva._

His grandmother’s name. The young woman on his father’s desk. Vergil spoke little of her, only shedding enough light to let Nero know enough. She had married Sparda, the Legendary Dark Knight. Something that awed Nero and filled him with pride when Vergil told him. Grandfather’s legend might have been gone from most humans, but it was still a monumental piece. An important deed done out of mercy and justice.

Nero continued to read until he came across a picture. It slipped away from one of the heavier books. As badly burned as the rest. The paragraphs were illegible, too many rips and tears on them. The picture however, miraculously survived. He could see Sparda, sitting regally with Eva at his side. Effervescent and beautiful. There seemed to be a deliberate move to erase this particular image. Only for the scratching to stop, leaving behind corrugations. Nero brought it nearer to the light. He narrowed his eyes, opening the drawer for a magnifying glass. His eyes didn’t deceive them though, a feature of demonic capabilities.

There was his father. Small and a mere child. He didn’t even reach Sparda’s seat. To his right, curiously, there was another one. White hair and wide blue eyes. An exact copy and mirror.

Nero tucked the photograph inside his coat when he heard Vergil coming upstairs. Boots clicking against the woods. He quickly put away the books, and in his haste tipped the shelf behind him. Vergil raised his brow when Nero was swaddled. Trapped between dictionaries, tomes, and scrolls.

He grinned sheepishly as Vergil only sighed.

\---

Nero was nineteen when he heard the name.

He had overslept. Missing dinner as the young man glanced at the clock. Crud, it was midnight. Hopefully, there were some leftovers. He didn’t care if they were pizzas. Better than nothing. His stomach growled. His hand rubbed his head as he put on a sweater. This time of the year was cold enough to warrant warmer clothing.

Halfway to his door, there was a tingling. Nero grabbed Blue Rose, inching to the balcony. There was a minute hesitation before he opened his mouth. Wanting to call out Vergil. His voice died down when the basement was slammed open. Its bang reverberated upstairs. Nero felt the pricking sensation again before he realized it came from _his father._

When Vergil emerged, Nero sniffed the air. Curiosity seeping in. What he got was a hard slap on his senses. _That smell_ was more powerful. It enveloped Nero and made his demon bristled like the first time he discovered it. Somehow it grew in bulks, hugging his father even tighter. Nero wondered if it suffocated him. If Vergil had let it.

He peeked over the railings. Hunched down on the floor. His father was disheveled. A few buttons opened and his shirt wasn’t tucked. Several strands fell on his face. There was a deep sigh heard, then minutes later grew into a growl. Nero flattened himself more. The bottle was emptied fast, the half-demon gulping it in one swift move.

In un-Vergil-like action, his father _threw_ the bottle. It hit the window, shattering upon contact. Vergil put both hands on his face. Vigorously rubbing upwards to his hair. The hands didn’t stop until the strands completely fell on him. Like this, Nero could see how similar he was with the boy on the picture. His father was too deep in his own mulling that he didn’t hear Nero’s audible gasp. Eyes faraway, glazed until they landed on the cracked window.

Slowly, predatorily, Vergil neared it. Never looking away from the reflection. He knocked once, twice, thrice on the glass before he sighed again. There was a sound that Nero didn’t want to register. A minute shaking of the shoulders and wet trails on his father’s cheeks. This wasn’t Vergil. Couldn’t be the half-demon that had raised Nero.

There was confusion there, a longing, a _sorrow_. Nothing in his gestures; feather soft on the broken window that had _Vergil_ written all over. It wasn’t possession, no, his father was too powerful for that. This… stranger looked forlorn. It was uncanny how his own father could _stare_ with such rawness at his own reflection.

As if there was someone else. Someone tangibly close.

It was a sad sight. Nero could feel his eyes watering – he sniffed and slapped himself. To snap out of whatever atmosphere this was. He felt like an intruder, Blue Rose swiftly put away and the young man decided to retreat. Lest he would lose his mind more.

There was a tone. Too soft for the human ears Nero overheard as he closed the door. A low whisper, intimately desperate. Nero couldn’t help his own heart’s twinge.

Under the nasal baritone, his father uttered the name.

_Dante._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Midway typing this story, I saw how many times I mentioned the basement and I laughed because holy crap, Attack on Titan influenced me even subconsciously - I'm waiting for Season 4 to air :D. 
> 
> I had this idea for a while and it got me real good haha halp. So many WIPs, so little time. :')
> 
> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are my fuels and greatly appreciated!  
> [My Twitter](https://twitter.com/blankballs) and [My Tumblr](https://cassia-bea.tumblr.com/)


	2. The Fortuna Job

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> English is not my first language and this is not beta-read. Everything is Capcom's property except this story.

The four of them had come together for the job.

It was a big one, Lady told him, and well, it didn’t take long for Nero to see. Fortuna was an island, complete with its own jurisdiction. Fully controlled by the cult. Nero remembered little of his time there, granted he had only been there until he was five and Vergil took him. The Order of the Sword meant nothing to him as a toddler, and definitely meant the same now to his nineteen years old self.

His father had been the one who advised for the joint work. It was once in a blue moon kind of thing. Vergil was a solitary man, a lone wolf in his own right. Both his and Trish’s head turned with Lady gawking when Vergil voiced it out. They didn’t say anything more after. Only agreeing for Trish to be the one infiltrating with the Devil Sword Sparda as an incentive. Lady would be outside and do the usual reconnaissance.

Nero and Vergil went their separate ways. Having two men with traits like them would draw too much attention. His father demanded attention by his own presence alone, and even a cloak would only do him little. Nero’s arm was put on a sling – garnering looks associated with the usual curiosity and sympathy to an injured person. It gave him an advantage.

The city was not without its share of genuine people, even in the church. Nero charmed his way, amplifying his boyishness with easy smiles. He would never let go of his spunk, yet it had the added effect of endearment. He was swiftly accepted. The orphanage and school people appreciated his help with the children. Red Queen garnered attention among them, the older ones wanting to try to wield it. They couldn’t, of course. The blade was heavy and hot to the touch – not as sentient as Yamato and not as huge as Rebellion. It served him well, and he had fallen in love with her blade, nevertheless.

His prowess on protecting the district pro bono caught the Holy Knights’ attention. A man named Credo looked on, appraising. Being a sore thumb amongst the common folks was enough for the vultures to set eyes on him. Good, Nero thought, one step closer to their hierarchy. The hours had then been spent with them preaching about his own grandfather (which was hilarious) and him nodding along. They were pleased when Nero showed interest on the Sunday mass. After the sun set, the church people returned to their stations. Breathing a sigh, Nero searched for the nearest payphone. He had to relay his next step to the others.

One thing he was glad about was the fact he didn’t have to be with his father all day long. Vergil had his own sniffing to do, never once calling for a meeting. It was for the better. It gave Nero enough window to finally able to speak privately with Lady. He hoped Trish could come, but ‘Gloria’ had to be there at the church – indefinitely. The higher-ups were more scrutinizing and paranoid of outsiders.

Lady arrived at the hotel and smirked knowingly when she opened the door. Nero’s beloved notebooks and some more files scattered on the table.

\---

The picture was pinched between Lady’s fingers when Nero finished. The young man’s hands on his hips as he stared outside. Night had settled, the stars twinkling along the neighborhood’s lights.

“They do look alike, alright,” Lady commented. “I never heard about a twin. Granted, anything about Sparda is almost non-existent nowadays and this island’s library doesn’t give the most credible sources.”

Nero grumbled, “That’s why it’s annoying,” he stomped his foot. “The only thing I have are those surviving books. Not to mention, I don’t know _why_ they got burned in the first place which is another mystery on its own,” Nero took a drink of his soda, “and _trust_ me when I say I looked. I sacrificed so many sleepless nights to find anything without the old man knowing, but no, nothing. Zero. Didn’t help that I can’t just waltz up to him and ask. That won’t be pretty,” he walked around, “and yes, it’s going nowhere, but I can’t just leave it. I want to know. I have a right to that! The old man forgets that I’m also Sparda’s descendant. Why does he need to be all hushed? I don’t get it,”

“Kid,”

“And not to mention if I do something as far as demanding or god forbid, coming back to that damn basement, he will fucking disown me. That’s the best scenario!” He threw his hands, “Argh, since when is he this territorial and secretive? I already grew up. I can handle it!”

“Hey, kid…”

“He’s _changed,_ Lady. Sometimes when I look at him, I can’t see _father._ He drinks more, eats an unholy amount of those junk food, and misses schedules. Him! Vergil, the most obsessive person alive to ever grace this world with his inherent need to control everything!”

“Nero,”

He slumped to the sofa. “Sorry,” he said between his fingers. Lady rarely used that tone. “I’m just..” He rubbed his face, “I’m just… mad.”

The spot beside him dipped, Lady then placed her hand on his head. “I know, kid. I know,” she patted. The poor kid was at his fringes. She remembered the tensed way the family had been standing apart when she met them by the pier. The man didn’t pay Nero any more mind after the briefing. Wanting them not to be seen together as much as possible. His treatment was cold, impersonal even to her standards. Lady had had minutely frowned at that.

Trish and her noticed the slight anomalies with Vergil in earlier years. For Trish, it was the minute stutter in his gestures towards her. For Lady, it was the general avoidance of their shared past. Those things had been chucked to his eccentricities. After all, the three didn’t actually become acquainted through friendly circumstances. Fate just dropped on them. That was all.

“He mentioned a name,” Nero mumbled to his knees. “Back that night,”

“A name?”

“Yeah,” he put his chin on them, “You should’ve seen how he said it,”

Lady raised her brow. “Well, what is it?”

There was a beat, and then Nero looked at her, “Dante.”

And her fingers stilled.

\---

The mass was boring. The only saving grace was the singer who put up quite a performance. That was it. At least, Nero could appreciate the talent – his father had distinct genres in music. He tried to stay awake, not wanting to offend the worshippers. It was hard, but this was all part of the job. The women were on the move and Vergil stood by.

His Devil Bringer was glowing. Beating softly at alert to the presence of demons. Nero knew some were at the front pews. Disguised. It was a chore dimming his arm’s light. Kyrie, as people called her, happened to be sitting by his right and glanced at his arm from time to time. Aside from that, thankfully nothing more. Nero was fidgeting when Sanctus started his sermon. The old man gesticulating to the blinded congregation below.

Seriously, this guy is pretentious. How could he be this affluent?

A minute decision made him to leave. Some minutes outside could be easily excused. A fresh air to clear the extreme ‘enlightenment’ he was receiving. It also wouldn’t jeopardize the plan, they agreed to strike at the closing. Risking little lives and less collateral damage. Nero was halfway standing up when a crash broke out.

He whipped around and cursed. Vergil landed on the railing. Without preamble, he sliced Sanctus by the throat with Yamato.

All hell broke.

He shot Blue Rose at the incoming guards. Knowing full well they weren’t humans. It got worse as the people receded, he was met with Credo. One look and of course, he thought Nero was the murdering maniac. The knight attacked him. Ferociously, he might add. They were on par. Almost toe to toe. It baffled Nero, how this human fared long against him. A quarter demon.

It wasn’t until he gained the upper hand that he had front row seat to the Order’s creations. Reading the intel was one thing, seeing it got him disgusted. The figure may be akin to an angel, but the stank was horrible. Nero dreaded what went through for them to get… this. Whose mad genius was lent for such atrocity?

The hunter scrunched his face. This was sick. The forced joining of human and demon spelled disaster. A death sentence to all who tried. Not just due to human’s lack of continuous healing, a demon’s essence was volatile, it would eat itself in incompatible vessel.

Credo snarled and charged at him. The pillar he was flung against crumbled. Fucking damn, that hurt like a bitch! He spat. If only he brought Red Queen with him.

On cue, the sword was dropped near him.

“Finish this quickly,” was all he heard before he revved his blade. Typical of his father to order him around. He didn’t need to check Vergil was perching. Elegantly poised. For the rare times, he was in agreement. Nero grinned. He was getting started.

The floor was wiped in twenty minutes. Credo landed in a heap. Hadn’t been ready to hold his ground. Not when Nero had his Devil Bringer and Trigger. The Red Queen halted mid-swing though.

“What are you waiting for?” Vergil asked.

When his son didn’t answer, he dropped down. Rebellion pulled from his back to finish the job. His blade was immediately parried by Nero’s.

“Can we,” Nero coughed, “Can we just leave him?” The knight was unconscious. His body reverting back. “Look, he’s returned normal again,” he pointed out. “Isn’t this in our policy? He’s still technically human.”

He waited as his father frowned, eyes glazed familiarly, then sighed. Moving Rebellion away, he gave the fallen man one last look before turning on his heels.

“Foolishness,” he said. “Foolishness, Nero.”

“Hey!” Nero trailed after. “I didn’t have to fight him if you went with the timing!”

They left the church, following Trish’s information to the underground facility.

“It took too long,” Vergil succinctly said.

To which Nero blanched. Almost tripping over his own shoes.

_Is that impatient he hears? Vergil, the biding hunter, had been running thin. For a mere one hour?_

God, Nero tightened his grip on his sword, this means Lady is right.

This job was something else. Something important. He should have known from the get-go when Vergil was the one busy prepping. Springs and buzzes brimming underneath. Even now, he could see it. In his father’s shoulder, lines taut and bunched. Along with that, so did the faraway gazes, and the constant clenching on the chain encircling his neck.

\---

“Here,” Lady opened her bag and handed him the papers. “You might want to sit down for this,” she warned.

It was the same information with added details. Fresh from Trish with how messy Lady’s scribblings were. Nero flipped through the pages as Lady spoke.

“When I first heard about this place, I thought it was just interesting. A cult with an insidious plan? Well, nothing new there. But when I dug deeper, the mention of Sparda and whatever line of coke Sanctus snorts are enough for me to call your father,” she opened another can of beer. For a holy city, they had good alcohol. “Then, we gathered more clues. We’re dealing with a massive group here, so we need to cover all our bases,” Lady said and clicked her finger, “Turn to the new pages.”

There were blurry pictures and snatched reports. Technical terms deemed jargon for a layman. It was enough to give the weight of the cult’s underbelly though. He frowned.

“What’s this got to do with anything?” He asked.

Lady leaned against the sofa, “Read further than the ‘Savior’ section,” she pointed. “Go on, I’ll wait.”

The font was tiny for his eyes and the long texts were enough to cut his attention span. Plain goading and obsessively compulsive writing. Not to mention, it took too long kissing Sanctus’ ass before finally getting to the main topic. When Nero finally reached the end, the last paragraph had him stilled. He looked up to Lady, who already had a wry smile. The beer cans were doubled by then.

“Finished?” She asked. At Nero’s terse nod, she continued, “I never really tell you about Temennigru and for sure, Trish doesn’t also regarding events at Mallet island. Can’t exactly blame us, when we had our own shits to deal with,” Nero stared at her, “But I guess, ten years are enough to be over it. I honestly never thought I would come across something similar again.”

“What do you mean?” Nero pressed.

“We don’t have all day. I’d wager Vergil is also reading the new intel, so I’ll make it short,” Lady said. A beat passed before she spoke again, “Both me and Trish actually heard the name too. During our respective first meeting with your father,” she raised her hand to shut Nero up.

At Temennigru, she remembered how Vergil had been. He may not have realized he whispered the name when she was nearby. Being deathly focused on climbing the tower again after Arkham had apparently pulled a fast one on him. For Trish, she told Lady when they were drinking. While still under Mundus’ command, she heard that name between Vergil’s snarls as he fought through throngs of enemies and when he faced Mundus.

It had meant nothing for the two women. Not enough context and no want to be entangled with Vergil’s personal matters. That past was messy, murky waters. One bit that didn’t really register. Until now.

“One more thing,” Lady said. “If I remember correctly, your father actually did the seals on the basement twice. After the tower, then once more after the island. I don’t know what he’s keeping down there, but I remembered I saw him carrying something away from the rubbles after Temennigru. I couldn’t really make out what it was, since he moved quickly, and it was dark.”

She had thought he would spat at her being consoling at the ruins. The rain had fallen yet wasn’t too relentless that she couldn’t see the wet tracks on his face. There were so many things she missed, having only arrived at the tower to discover Arkham’s body then proceeded to be lied to and manipulated enough. She still could feel the ghost pain when Kalina Ann pierced her thigh – a reminder of her naivety. The haze of her own body screaming didn’t let her hear and see anything more, aside from being thrown off by the abomination her father had become. Vergil was seething as they fell on to the lower levels. They had been forced to become ally until the half-demon stopped her any further. The tone and expression he made had finally been the one that had her relenting. Lending Kalina Ann out of sympathy. At how lonely he looked. At how desperate he sounded.

(Vergil told her enough to understand this was a family matter to him – a matter of private love and maybe that was why she saw a human than a demon when they were reunited again. She had no idea what his true intentions had been for the tower, but it was enough. Had been enough. Considering how unmoored she was.)

“You’re just telling me this now??” Nero sighed. Exasperated but too tired to snark.

Lady shrugged, “Hey, I don’t know if it’s anything noteworthy or even good. None of us are truly buddy-buddy with your dear old dad. I’m sure as hell, Vergil sees me and Trish as mere acquaintances at best. Inconvenience at worst. Not to mention, your dad is privy as hell. Hindsight is twenty-twenty and I’m not going to waste that on testing the waters with Vergil.”

Okay, fair enough. Nero eyed the last section again. “So, he doesn’t really do this because of what the Order is?”

Lady nodded. “Uh-huh, he didn’t bat an eyelash, only intending by proxy and obligation to maintain your grandad’s legacy. Well, until Trish hinted something more that had him gearing up faster than I can blink,” she gestured away.

“He’s not going to react well to this new info,” Nero muttered.

They both sighed. Oh, don’t they know that?

“It’s fucking amazing how they managed to dig though,” Nero waved the papers. “I didn’t even know ninety percent of this shit before.”

Lady snorted, “Yeah, real insane work there,” she crushed her can then stood up. “Listen, Nero,” her fingers wrung, “If you’re going to continue, just be careful, alright. Vergil is not himself nowadays and you being impatient will only spell disaster.”

The woman walked to him and put both hands on his shoulders. Mismatched eyes gleamed with warning and a ‘good luck’.

“Whatever is down there, make sure you have a clear head, and look after your father, will you?”

For Nero’s sake, he should be. Vergil may be an asshole and a stuck-up, but he was still one of the closest people in Lady’s life. They had differing views, most of those clashing. Couldn’t be helped when one was more demon than human. That was another talk for another day. Currently, the thought of another broken family gnawed Lady. The young man in front of her was brash and obnoxious at times, but Nero was good. Encompassing passion and kindness. Juxtaposing his position to Vergil’s own.

“I know,” Nero huffed, his hand patting her shoulder. “Have more trust in me, will you? I think, by now I’m more grown-up,”

“Tch, yeah right, nineteen is nothing, you brat,”

“Hey!”

“Anyway, I need to go back to my own room. Lord knows, the people start to whisper if I spend the night with a young, untainted, pure youngling like you,” Lady smirked. The indignant yelp followed her to the door. “Good night, kid. Remember what I said, keep a good head.”

Nero groaned, standing up to lock the door. He stared at the discarded report while he nibbled some bread. Bought that afternoon from the bakery downstairs. The taste was good but lost on him as he chewed.

Trust Lady to dump new info during ongoing mission. What a bomb-drop this was.

What a fucking mess. 

His eyes read the last part again. Putting them to memory. Under the further explained ‘Savior’, there was another project. Much more confidential with all the protocols surrounding it. The chief researcher, an alchemist named Agnus made the latter his lovechild. A favored one compared to the former. It was there in his writing, so densely poetic and excessive even to the less academically inclined.

His jagged handwriting christened his beloved project – _Dante._

\---

It was ridiculously easy to locate. The lab was a state of the art, yet its security was shit. Might as well put paper soldiers rather than these poor-ass cultists. They didn’t put up much of a fight even. Not when Nero beat half of them already. His father didn’t need to draw either Yamato or Rebellion. Vergil’s gaze was enough to send them scurrying away. Shrieks and whimpers receding upstairs.

The researcher was rooted in his place at first, shock and confusion colouring his face. As Agnus scrutinized Vergil rather than Nero who was near, the guarded curiosity turned into full-blown exhilaration.

“You- you a-are, you are h-h-him!” He stuttered out. Syllables pitching high. “Son- o-of of Sparda! How am- amazing!”

Nero tilted his head, while Vergil didn’t react. “How the fuck you know?” He asked. It garnered Agnus’ attention which he seriously disliked. Eyes roaming up and down, from him to Vergil and back again. It was disgustingly violating. 

“Of c-course! The power, the s-strength! My- mac-machines can de-det-detect it. Your pre-presence i-is overbearing. M-magnificent! Tr- truly incredible!” The alchemist gestured wildly. “And- and, is this y-your son? He h-has stil- still Sparda’s bl- blood within him. A-a-again, incredible. You’ll do-do n-nicely as a specimen!”

This time, Vergil cut him off. “Such confidence. I’m surprised you can grovel at Sanctus’ feet considering how much of you he depended on,” he lifted his nose.

“Sanctus pro-provided me w-with the funds, and the sub- subjects. E-each is carefully selected,” Agnus grinned, and Nero scrunched his face, “the-they serve the Order well. Willingly o-of course,” he smiled. It was ugly – yellowed teeth and folded dry lips.

“Wait,” the man turned sharply, “did you say ‘depended’ on? P-past tens-tense? Our H-Holy leader… dead?”

“Yes,” Vergil smoothly answered. “I killed him.”

Nero saw how the hunched man became even more hunched. Almost touching the floor. He put one foot ahead, readying if this Agnus would explode. It was silent for a beat and two, no one made any move and Vergil seemed content to just stand there. The sounds were small before they raised more and more until Nero realized Agnus was laughing. His laugh was just as ugly as the man. Ringing and wheezing annoyingly.

“That i-is bad,” Agnus said between snorts, “Too bad. T-time wasted fo-for th-the Saviour!” He sniffed then sighed. Loudly. “D-do do you know how many y-years this to-took? Almo-almost a decade! And no-now that ancient sack bail-bailed and got himself killed!” He smiled. All inside jokes.

“I hav-have little time. Non-existent to c-care for my one and only. P-poor th-thing, I haven’t paid it too much attention. Set-back after seatback. My magnum opus! Oh, it is much bet-“

Yamato was at his jugular. Glinting under the lights, menacing and perfectly in sync with Vergil’s patience. “Where is it?” He said. The indulging tone gone.

Agnus raised his hands, shaking but grinning, nonetheless. “Oh, oh! You know? I’m truly honoured! W-well, ‘side fr-from the fact that meant we have a mole here. This is a top-“ Vergil pressed enough to leave blood trail. The man gulped. Sweating yet maniacally happy.

“I’ll ask again,” Vergil said, “Where is it?”

And even a brain-damaged man knew the temperature dropped.

“I-I I’ll show you! It’s perfectly hidden a-and only I can open it without activating th-the sel-self self-destruct,” Yamato pushed further, almost decapitating the man and Nero stepped further in before Vergil released the man. Agnus coughed with his hand feeling his neck. Relieved when nothing seemed out of place.

“Show me,” Vergil put Yamato’s tip on his back. “Don’t dawdle, move,” he commanded, “and if you think you can trick me, do think it wisely.” Rebellion’s hilt was gripped for emphasis.

They went deeper. Passing corridors and empty rooms. Some Nero skipped past without sparing much as a glance. Bloodied and empty cages in one, chains hung from the ceiling with what seemed like human skin in the other. The Order was a dumpster covered with silk cloth. Mad bastards, all of them. Heinous and should all burn in hell. Nero looked forward when they finally be exposed. Mob justice was never his liking, yet maybe just this once he could revel on that.

Agnus, a full adult man, turned into a stuttering mess. Stars in his eyes and heaving deeply. Too engrossed in his task, like a child that was giddy to brag to his parents. He chattered all the way, incessantly so despite Vergil’s occasional harsh nudge. His father was silent. Dogged determination for the destination. Ignoring everything but the human at his blade to lead the way. He ignored Nero’s presence, not even side-eyeing the younger Sparda. Nero kept to himself, unsure and curiosity creeping in when they finally were at the lowest level. Lady’s words rung in his mind.

Clear head – right, should be easy. What a load of bull. He didn’t have much time (only a day) before Trish gave the signal and they made their move.

He really had no fucking clue how he would handle this. How _Vergil_ would handle this. His old man seemed less and more himself if that made sense. 

By the time they arrived, Angus’ back was damp with blood. Nothing life-threatening, of course, Vergil was too much of an expert to make blunders.

“T-this is it!” Angus said. “N-n-ne-never in a million ye-years. Never in a million years,” he struggled through, “T-the Son of Sparda! In the f-flesh and bon-bone to be here. A monumental mom-moment of my li-life!” At the sound of Rebellion being hefted, he quickly tinkered with the locks. Nero had to admit, they looked deadly. Probably activated by magic and mechanics. A land mine for the unseeing.

The light coming from the parting walls blinded Nero for a split second. He adjusted as it died down, lowering his hand. He couldn’t hear what Agnus’ yammering about after. His mouth busy clamping down on itself. There was no reaction from Vergil, not even a sound.

Or maybe it was because Nero was too busy not vomiting himself sick.

\---

Agnus let his place whirred to life. Lighting up everything for the Son of Sparda to see. He was infinitely ecstatic. Who would have foreseen that the half-demon himself arrive at his doorstep? It felt like a dream, he needed to pinch himself even when his back hurt from the multiple wounds peppering it.

The alchemist was thorough and had devoted his life to study demons and foremost about Sparda. The Legendary Dark Knight that had become such a myth and a faraway treasure trove. He looked expectantly at the white-haired man, wringing his fingers together. Oh dear, he should have worn his best outfit. There was an honoured guest in front of him.

While he was a bit miffed by how easily the Order was infiltrated, because it wasn’t anything but negligence on Credo’s part, the result far made up for that. He stepped out of the way as Vergil passed him, the katana sheathed in hand with the screaming skull on the hilt by his head.

The boy, Agnus thought, was nothing close to him. Still young and easily shaken. Agnus frowned when he struggled to compose himself. Maybe given a few years in, then this youngling would be as unflappable as his father. He was dead sure this one was also of Sparda’s bloodline. The right arm was interesting too, Agnus had to hold himself from reaching. It wouldn’t do to sour Vergil’s disposition by such rude act.

All the angelos and other results, either successful or failed ones were there in this room. Sanctus had given him free reign. To tinker, to experiment, to challenge nature. The old man had grandeur that coincided with Agnus’ philosophy. That misanthropy of humanity and the subsequent need to evolve, further pushing oneself to be above them. That was the reason he was on board with the Order, indulging the Cult leader to engineer something akin to a holy being. A tool of judgment which would subjugate this world. Agnus had even been willing to abort his beloved experiment – albeit with a deeply heavy heart, if the Savior proved to be the most fruitful. Mortal years could only expend so much, and his patience teetered on breaking sooner than later.

Yet Sanctus had been still a mere mortal, and now he failed. Gone like a snuffed candlelight. In the end, he was everything in only his delusion. A human that reached for the sun and died falling to the cliffs below. Sanctus was nothing compared to Vergil. The atmosphere seemed to fold around him, bowing to his sheer presence alone. He was a true monarch amongst the creatures around them. A god – for what else such powerful being could be comprehended as.

The man was elegantly brisk in movement on reaching the end of the hall. Ignoring rows and rows of mutilated and stitched together creations. Some pulsing with a few already atrophied. Agnus knew what he was looking for. Could hypothesize that it basically called out to the half-demon. Fortunately, he had done the usual check just a day before. It wouldn’t be fussy now, perfectly quiet and too lethargic to react.

The walk there only took ten minutes, but the intense gratification bore on Agnus. The researcher could hear the young man had finally got over his senses and took wide steps to catch up with them. Agnus gave him his back, favouring the spectacle that would unfold as of now. He deftly pushed a button to light more lamps, no doubt waking it up.

Vergil stopped. Right at the foot of the raised surface. It was a metal slab, hard and cold. On the surface, a lump moved. Rustling as it reached the other end of the threadbare blanket. Its movements were slow, limbs jittered and inharmonious.

Nero arrived in time to see the figure revealing themselves. He had wanted to subdue the mad scientist, tying him up, and kicking him outside for further apprehension. For justice. But those were all dashed as his eyes landed on what was before Vergil. He couldn’t see his father’s face and he feared that. The sudden drop of his heart prevented him to get Agnus to just _stop_ fucking talking.

He couldn’t imagine what Vergil was thinking right at this moment and he was _fucking_ scared. His father had gone very, very still as the cover fell off them.

No, not them. _Him._

Blue eyes and white hair. A copy and a mirror. Only this time, possessed in flesh and blood.

Nero could hear the exhaled breath as Vergil spilled the name again.

“Dante,”

\---

For as long as he came to understand what his father did for a living, Nero knew Devil May Cry had rules. They were more like protocols; some were there for the sake of keeping the business in line. But one rule was absolute. A code that Vergil held and enforced. One that Nero would not question and would not break.

_No killing of humans._

And he just saw his father decapitated a human. His second one now after the cult leader. The head rolled under the tables, obscured into shadows. Agnus’ body twitched, jerking as neurons still fired the muscles to move until nothing held together anymore as Vergil rained swords. The sounds were swift, a squelching of tissues, and clattering bones by the end of it. Blood, wet and stark against the pristine grey floor.

Agnus hadn’t registered the tightened grips, too engrossed in his explanation. Proudly sparing no details on the fruits of his labour. Hadn’t realized if he only stopped for a second, would see he offered those to wrath itself. Alas, the man kept on going – boasting on about his incarnated endeavour before them.

\---

It was found on the beach. Waves licking at its feet. Agnus himself had been walking listlessly, frustrated at another failed experiment. The head of white hair and shredded clothes caught his eyes – no one had such shade around. Too unnatural and curious. He poked at the body as it gave a twitch. The man checked for a pulse, deeming it would be unseemly if someone saw him leaving the figure to die. It could greatly lead the Order under scrutiny from their hard-won people. So, despite the early morning and general emptiness, Agnus crouched down to inspect.

Flaking skin, thick veins corroding the slight body like corruption, and a gaping mouth. He gingerly turned it over, wondering if it got hurt. It didn’t take long to see how badly off the person – he – was. Unseeing eyes but alert enough to know there was someone nearby. Feeble fingers grasped at sand and Agnus was about to haul him up to drop at a hospital when the jewellery glinted. A big red stone with silver chains, the only worthy item from the otherwise almost-naked figure. He had an unusually strong grip to it when Agnus touched the necklace. Digging into soft skin until drops of blood stained it.

_How curious._

Agnus could feel some kind of power radiating off. A quick sniff and he knew there was something peculiar. Years being surrounded by demons (dead and alive) and the overexposure of magic would hone one’s skills to the supernatural. Agnus grinned. The figure retaliated weakly before passing out. His face scrunched and frowning. The alchemist swiftly brought them to Sanctus, who only nodded and let him have the honour. The old man may not be a fool, but the matters of Agnus’ specialty fields were lost on him.

The unknown male had not reciprocated his kindness well. After he was strong enough and coherent, he became the most rebellious subject Agnus had the misfortune on handling. There were too many injuries dealt to his assistants, some even got traumatized enough that he caged this one at the deepest lab. But the ungrateful wench didn’t have all the cards, he was still under Agnus’ mercy and the man made sure he knew. Overriding the senses, imprisonment, and jolts of electricity did the trick, added with a sprinkling of both physical and mental tortures. At the end, he was too tired, too hoarse, and weak again to stop anything.

What Agnus discovered was a myriad of incredibility. The blood had all the makings of a powerful demon, the amulet was imbued with a powerful magic, the traits of humanity underlined savagery and feral instincts. It was even more intriguing when the male subject relented and used his voice. Under the heaviest of influence, the latest one Agnus cooked up.

“He talked about Sparda!” He had said to Vergil’s back, “Claiming the demon was his father and that he missed his mother. Of course, I did a little research and yes, that was highly likely. A small account told of how Sparda settled with a human woman after all,” he fixed his glasses. “It’s an unfortunate thing we don’t have any of Sparda’s genetics. It could back up his statement,” the man sighed.

He was too blind to notice. Too arrogant thinking he was safe.

“He was strong. His healing abilities were superior, and his strength greatly defeated anyone thrown at him. He was a tough fighter, able to live through a nasty gash and tear to his throat. I must say he greatly helped with the Order’s creations with the data. Suffice to say, he was a magnificent test subject. A valued commodity,” he chuckled.

Nero’s indignant ‘you sick fuck,’ was promptly ignored in favour of wheedling more information. Agnus saw Vergil’s hand hovered over the male. Contemplative and appraising.

He should have kept his mouth shut after.

“Though,” he put his hands together, “he also mentioned. Threatening, to be exact, how his brother would come for him. It led to me having to dig more, to send out more incompetent people to look around. To make sure I wasn’t fooled,” from his peripheral he could see Nero inched dangerously and Agnus readied his remote button.

“And though it cost so much time and money, it wasn’t a lie! You, Vergil! The twin is alive and well!” He clapped once, “Oh, his face was happy. Elated even and he was more obedient for a while. He waited, and I also looked forward to it. Sooner or later, you devil hunters would notice about the Order, after all. Sanctus had become more and more impatient,”

Nero was prowling close and Agnus tightened his hold on the button. Hidden away behind his back. It didn’t matter at the end. The foolish alchemist rambled on.

“That is too bad though,” he shook his head woefully, “he died. His body too sick and corroded to keep functioning. I managed to save enough tissue to rebuild him. Really, he should’ve been more grateful!” He did a shrug.

“This is my hundredth and fifth attempt; it seems like that necklace makes him stable. He lives far longer than any of the other ones, and my hard work finally paid off!” He laughed.

“Both sons of Sparda now reuni-“

And he was confused when his vision swayed. There was a split second as he pushed the button. Amidst the ringing noise and darkening room (or was it just him?), Agnus frowned as his headless body fell to the ground.

\---

“Motherfucker!” Nero cursed as he swiped Red Queen around.

The fucker had released all the eldritch abominations out. By all, he meant everything. Even the corpses which only plopped down, stinking up the place. His nose didn’t appreciate the new perfume. There was no time to spare Vergil a glance as they charged. Nero danced away, missing a few hits to his head, neck, and chest. They weren’t that sentient, driven by only mere instincts. They were horrendous. Nero pitied them.

He finished quickly. Making a bigger mess with all the gunk, flesh, and ichor. His Devil Trigger didn’t need to go out for this. Yet he needed to for faster slaying and wrapping up the business. In the distance, Rebellion and Yamato were singing. The blades mercilessly thrashed every equipment and every tank. Nero could smell abundant human flesh with their distinct metallic blood. There was a split-second pause as he noticed the undertone. Deadly similar to his and his father’s own.

_Wait…_

He emptied Blue Rose into the monsters. He used the last of his bullets. He didn’t care. Wiping his face, he then turned. Honing on Vergil’s figure.

Yamato was drenched. Her sheen obscured. Uncharacteristically silent in her encompassing glory. As if she understood her master’s turmoil more than even Nero. His father was slightly heaving, shaking off his outburst. There was a rawness to it – Vergil’s stance imperfect. He was looming over the carnage. Back still turned to Nero. 

There was a minute of silence before Vergil’s hand reached out to the figure. Crouched low with the wide (familiar) blue eyes looking inquiringly at his father. He was saved from the destruction, only several flecks of red had been flicked on his face and white, white hair. There was no recognition in the eyes. Unsettlingly empty.

_If Nero imagined hard enough, they should have been livelier. Blinking, glistening, and crinkling._

_If Nero envisioned perfectly, there should have been warmth._

He remembered how Vergil’s eyes had lit up. Canines lengthening as he swiped Yamato at Agnus. Wide indignation and snarls at the audacity. Nero knew the look when someone crossed Vergil’s good grace intimately. His father was no merciful being, proud and fierce to those he deemed unworthy.

Yet it didn’t faze him to care. Agnus had it coming. He expired his own use by his yammering, and the only thing that crossed Nero’s mind after the initial shock was how much more Agnus deserved for his sins. He glanced at the mounds of flesh as he walked to his father. A relief that there was only them now and seemingly an answer dawning for the young devil hunter.

Maybe now he would finally, finally understand the connection. Between the other boy in the picture and the person his father was cupping his cheek with one hand.

_Maybe Vergil would finally tell him the truth. About a twin and of a past unbeknownst to Nero. His own son. His own kin._

The person was silent as Vergil kept on caressing his cheek with his thumb. Only sometimes sighing, deceptively casual but there was no denying the sheer _tiredness_. The amulet glinted under the light. Swaying with the movement. No words were exchanged. Each looking into the other’s mirror image. There was something unspoken between them. In a frequency Nero had no clue of.

It took forever before Vergil moved. Yamato deposited onto the floor. Nero raised his brow, his father never let go of his beloved sword in such manner.

He was about to ask when his father pulled at Rebellion.

With ruthless ease, he pushed the claymore and pierced the other’s chest.

_What the fuck?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, shit.... Poor Nero, am I right? :)
> 
> Thank you for reading!  
> [My Twitter](https://twitter.com/blankballs) and [My Tumblr](https://cassia-bea.tumblr.com/)


	3. The Basement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> English is not my first language and this is not beta-read. Everything is Capcom's property except this story.

Trish let the monster fell under her electricity. The static wafting in the air even after she finished. From her left, Lady was using Kalina Ann overtime – the mean firearm blasting through three demons at once. Blood spurted from the holes she made, splattering the cobblestones and still the people around them stood around. Panicking and flinging about like headless chickens. The only group that remotely seemed to act normal was the former Holy Knights.

Their leader, Credo, the stuffiest man Trish ever known, yelled out commands. Loud enough to be heard by his underlings.

“Take the elderly first! Remember, leave the fighting to the hunters!” He pointed away from the square. Sword drawn and at the ready. He didn’t choose to transform again. A good thing, since Trish was infinitely repulsed by the sheer demonic fakery there was. Pathetic was a fitting word to what the Order had tried to do – really, making use of Vergil as some sort of a power source for their Savior? Oh, it was hilarious to a point when she thought how the huge statue was modelled after his daddy dearest. But then again, also nugatory given there was no possible scenario these humans could so much as even touch Vergil.

“The area’s cleared, sir!” One knight shouted.

Credo nodded, then turned towards the two women. “My men will retreat now, whatever you’re trying to do here, I leave that thing in your hands,” he said. A bit snobbish though Trish could hear the seceding in his tone.

“We’ll fire a signal when all is done,” Lady walked over to them. For the time being, no fiends appeared again. She wiped some ichor from her cheek, “Just make sure to keep everyone away from the perimeters, alright?”

The man nodded then turned to join the rest.

“How long do we have to hold them off?” Trish sighed when the Hell Gate rumbled again.

“Not for much longer, Trish,” Lady grinned, clicking her guns’ safety off. She already paced ahead before she glanced back, “From what this little guy telling me, the brat is arriving in less than ten minutes.”

Trish hummed, then chose to intensify her hearing. She looked for that distinct revving of the fledgling’s blade and his rambunctiousness. Eventually she picked him up, much closer than the bat-like familiar had initially told them. The small mass of pure energy was one of Nero’s doing during his leisure time. Some sort of innovation he cooked up when after a third time in a row human technology couldn’t broadcast signals under layers of heavy magic. Trish noted how the bat looked so lifelike, one would have thought it was real. The kid had been in the middle of making more discreet communication devices as accessories before Fortuna.

She remembered how Nero planned to make his newest invention to be Vergil’s birthday present when they started to drift apart.

“He’s here,” she called to Lady, who waved her confirmation and went to higher ground. Trish joined her, standing on a nearby jutting of a building.

The demons were crushed as Nero arrived. In his Devil Trigger form. The women shared a look, exasperated more than anything. The youngest hopped from one enemy to another, crowing and taunting. His spectral wings flicking off the blood, too much of a cat to let them stain any part of him. Especially his hair, both knew how much the youth actually favored the long white hair.

Lady shook her head and threw some pebbles at him. They squarely hit him.

“Stop sulking and close that damn gate already, brat!” She shouted at him. “Get your anger somewhere else, we’re running on time here!”

Nero rubbed his head and stuck out his tongue impishly. He would flip her but that was Lady, not Trish. He finished the business in record time, all the while making some demon parts flew at where the two women perched. Definitely not accidentally. Lady almost wanted to throw more pebbles, maybe even a brick at him.

He flew away, landing on a broken statue, feet perfectly propped on its jagged head. Several flyaway were still hovering in the air, but Nero paid them no mind. Those got shredded to pieces by his wings. The towering Hell Gate had still been rumbling, cracking open more and more. Whatever Agnus did have been let loose the moment he died. Turned out that stupid little remote hadn’t just been connected to that underground lab. It also let out a signal, some alert to notify his underlings of unforeseen accident. Of course, seeing how much havoc his father caused by literally killing the head honcho in front of the masses, it had incited major panic and broken command chains. Entropy loved the literal mess Vergil nudged like dominos. It was morbidly entertaining how easy for a cult as huge as the Order to crumble when their head was lopped off. Nero had thought they would have kept on moving – a cold machine. But instead, they were nothing if not mere house of cards.

Nero didn’t feel sympathy towards the screaming cultists trying to run away. He was sorrier for the island denizens. The dumbass that had made the decision to initiate the plan was a flimsy man who had pissed himself when Lady knocked him against the wall. Imploringly glaring at him to spill all the spots the smaller gates were placed. The Savior had been rendered useless, seeing there was nothing that powered it up. It remained an empty husk, soon destroyed when the people shook off their disbelief and shock. For that, Nero had no doubt. But there was still the matter of freely roaming demons, flesh hungry and all dumb instincts pouring out to the streets. Trish and Lady had told him to handle those first, somehow managing to get that knight Credo to assist on stalling for time. The knight didn’t appreciate being bested so easily yet was wise and cared enough to prioritize the others.

It was the first time Nero used his Trigger form for a prolonged time. Quite a novel experience, seeing everything in such vividness and sharpness. His demon was having a blast, being let to take a huge breath. Nero felt its smugness when people saw his form, moving and swinging with inhuman ease. Really, that side of his was quite a show-off.

In each sealing of a gate, Yamato was used. It settled silently inside his Devil Bringer. As if he was holding a normal Devil Arm rather than a sentient, all-encompassing weapon. She never conversed with him, never extended the connection shared with his father. Reluctant that Nero suspected she wanted to be over with this partnership as soon as possible. Could practically feel the eagerness to return to Vergil when he pulled her out again.

“Right, let’s finish this,” he muttered and drew her blade. The resonating shing rang, the demons around were obliterated. Not once spared a blink. They all turned to dust; their vitality absorbed nonchalantly. He held the handle with both hands, concentrating towards sealing the last and the biggest of the Hell Gates. 

With practiced movement (never as graceful as Vergil’s), the quarter demon made two slashes. With the demonic energy cut, the rift between this realm and the Underworld was closed. Nero sensed nothing more from the now normal wall stone. He hopped down to meet Lady and Trish.

“Good job, kid,” Lady said. Her sunglasses reflecting the late sunset. “Guess Yamato is a good choice to use,” she gestured to the katana.

Nero shrugged, “That’s her specialty,” he weighed the sword. A stare for seconds longer before he looked at them. “So, uh, could one of you bring this back to father?” He lifted Yamato.

“Wait, what? Why? You were the one who borrowed it,” Lady held her palm.

The younger man sighed, “I don’t think I can,” he said, “Just that, I really don’t want to see him again. Technically, I didn’t ask for Yamato, he saw the situation and allowed me to hold her,” he tightened his grip. “I think we have seen each other enough for today and I just… need to collect myself before getting back. So, could you or Trish drop this off by his room? You don’t even have to enter, just put it by the door or something. I really just… can’t now,” the boy looked on at the two women. At Lady’s hesitance, he quietly added, “Please.”

Trish glanced at Lady who didn’t want anything to do within Vergil’s radius and closed her eyes. Right, Nero said that they didn’t even need to knock, so it meant she wouldn’t need to announce her presence. “I’ll do it,” she held out her hand. “For the record, you owe me one,” the demoness warned and put Yamato on her back. The sword was cold – she wanted to get rid of it quickly. Too much of Vergil, too much of a reminder how twice she almost got decapitated by that very weapon.

“I know, I know,” Nero nodded and with a looser face, he said, “Thank you, Trish.”

The devil huntress waved him off, already walking away from the other two. She took a shortcut over the roofs. Remembering the place Vergil holed up in. The building was older, secluded at the edge. The sun was getting drowned by the horizon when she arrived. No one was around, presumably driven out by the sudden horde onslaught. The front desk was empty and to her dismay, the stairs was locked, along with all the hallways. A few small destructions could be done to reach the upper floors, but Trish didn’t like that option. There was a half-demon here, roaming in his territory. No matter how temporary the place was, Trish wouldn’t want to risk it.

There had not been much to go on off, not even after their rendezvous. Nero had been sour, clutching at Red Queen, and looked all eager to blast off steam. Trish noted the bloody and disheveled state of his clothes. Stinking with questionable stickiness with no bullets left inside Blue Rose. One shared look with Lady was enough for both conceding as of now. The boy might be easily frustrated and angered, but a saving grace was he too was easy to wind down given a window. But it wasn’t far-fetched to connect what had made Nero to immediately part way after they re-emerged from that alchemist’s lair.

It was a play of fate for that the name became so significant within the span of five days since they arrived at this blasted island.

She landed on the balcony. The sun already disappearing, leaving everything in the dark. Yamato was carefully leaned besides the door frame. The katana rested elegantly against the bland wall. There was a minute of her wanting to take a peek, but well, she was older now and having a third time to test her luck was a bit stupid. So, Trish knocked twice on the glass, and immediately moved away. When she landed on a tall branch, the foliage was enough to cover her whole figure. The half-demon creaked the balcony open, turning his head to his weapon. Yamato was picked up and curiously, Vergil’s hair was down. Shadowing his eyes, as he spared a look towards the street below.

There was something uncanny in the way he moved – Trish couldn’t pinpoint what. She took off thereafter, right when Vergil’s gaze landed on her. Strangely, the usual iciness was not felt. A cursory glancing over her shoulder, Vergil had already turned away and retreated inside the dark hotel room.

All the while, he kept caressing the amulets.

\---

_What the fuck?_

Nero was too stumped with all his being locked to be coherent. He knew his mouth hung open, grey noises ringing inside his head. Red Queen was nonexistent in his hand with Blue Rose emptied weight ignored. The angle of the lamps made Rebellion shone. Its tip embedded deep into the metal slab. It stayed, drawing rivulets of blood. Red steadily pooled under Vergil’s boots. What caught Nero’s own nose was how pungent it was. There was an undertone which signaled powerful pedigree, the metallic identity in those coming from Sparda. But that richness was marred by rot – destroyed flesh that should have been left to rest. The white hair formed a halo around the person’s head, a beautiful painting amongst the absurdity and carnage. He let out a breath, lips red, and they tried to form words before going slack. Those blue eyes looked on Vergil. The half-demon above him with the smallest of down lilt on his face. Vergil’s hand never left his cheek. Nakedly soothing in its gesture.

It felt too private for Nero. Couldn’t help but be entranced. Giving into gravity as the head rested, whole body pliant, and Nero saw the strange salubrious of it all in the face of perishing life. Vergil then lowered himself, putting his forehead against the other with eyes closed.

The odious squelching sound snapped Nero out. His father’s broadsword pulled while its tip still dripped crimson.

Nero finally found his voice again, “… What did you do?”

Forever and a second too fast Vergil returned to his full height. Now with the necklace wrapped between his fingers. He was silent.

“What the hell did you just do?”

Silence still.

“For fuck’s sake!” He raised his voice, “What is going on here? Why did you kill him?!” The lab glaringly echoed back.

“Who is he? What was that madman talking about?” He gestured frantically, “The very moment on we started this job, you’ve been acting weird, father. Why are you like this? Is it something serious? You’ve been pushing everyone away. Pushing _me_ away,” Nero gritted his teeth.

Vergil flicked his gaze to him and frowned, “I shouldn’t have brought you along,” he sighed. A parent to a petulant child.

A vein popped.

“Excuse you, old man,” Nero marched forward. His tone earned Vergil’s narrowed eyes, but he didn’t care. “Shouldn’t have brought _me_ along? Well, sorry to disappoint, dear _father._ It was you who dragged us into this. If I start asking questions, that can’t be helped jack shit, right? I thought we knew each other well,” he challenged.

His demon almost whimpered when Vergil growled. His own father literally _bared_ his fangs to him as if he was an impudent runt. Nero was in too deep to back out.

“What? Don’t tell me you didn’t expect me to not notice? I know you’re strange, old man, but your fuckery are not covered enough by your bullshits. You do crap job to act like everything is all fine and dandy within this family,” Nero pointed his finger to Vergil.

Willing his hand not to shake, the young fledgling stared into the war between their stares. He let out his disrespect in every glint, every twitch, every fiber of his being. Even when he should have been mindful to the cooling body which held Vergil’s rapt attention.

He saw his father’s mouth opened, no doubt about to release his repertoire of weaponry known as ‘words’ before he abruptly took a deep breath. Small hisses escaped him while he moved his hand to his temple. Telltale signs of the usual migraine. The older of the two turned, Yamato picked up and Rebellion settled against his back.

Nero didn’t let him flicker away. Didn’t let him have the chance to postpone this matter. Whatever would happen after. Probably a death wish on his part, desperate and stubborn. (Nero hadn’t wanted to resort to this.)

“It’s him, isn’t it?” The photograph presented between two fingers, “The boy in this picture, Dante.”

And he gulped when Vergil stilled. One hand twitched around Yamato’s hilt. Nero pushed on.

“I can’t turn a blind eye, father. Not when you are the one keeping things away from me. I’m sorry if I have no right to understand you better, but,” he bit his lips. Face scrunched and eyes pleading. Nero would stab himself if anyone ever reminisced this moment.

He denied his tremor. “But am I not your own son?” The young man lifted his head more. “Can’t you just believe in me?” A hitch, and then he whispered. “… Dad?”

That was his lowest blow. He literally fucking called Vergil from when he was a little squirt. When he was just a fetus compared to this half-demon. He swallowed his pride for this, fucking damnit. All because he _had_ to know.

Curiosity killed the cat and all that warning, but Nero was determined. He always dug deeper into the deepest bowels.

There was no sound. Nothing aside from Nero’s raising heart and Vergil’s deceptively cool breath. It should have burned by how much the feeling of pure meekness demanded. His father’s own hand placed on his shoulder. Heavy as lead, menacing enough to rival Yamato’s blade. Nero willed himself to face him.

What he saw was indescribable that Nero was left flummoxed.

“I’ll repeat myself again. I shouldn’t have brought you with me,” Vergil started. “It was a mistake, one that I could admit. Tell me, Nero,” he plucked the picture from his son’s grasp. “Do you have faith in your capability on what you wish for?”

The way he asked was stilted. A warning and an ultimatum. It felt as if his father was offering his side of the branch. Unwilling and testing.

“There’s a reason why I never deemed to impart this part of my life,” the half demon said sotto voce. “But it seems fate has played its misbegotten whim again,” he sighed. A not-so chuckle dying down.

Nero wondered the morbid humor that he had apparently missed.

“I want to know, father,” the son said. Stated with all the surety he could muster. A falling star he would not miss to grab. “I deserve the right to know. About you, about him, and about my own family,” he finished and shed his coat.

Its blue shade stained black when he draped them over the body. The temperature was fast to instill iciness on the skin. Nero thought his clothe served some semblance of a cover. Cicatrices strewed all over the sickly pale skin. Chain and rope burns encircled limbs with some visible dots from multiple needles intruding the veins. He was horribly malnourished. Yet the wound left by Rebellion had closed halfway before there was nothing more. Nero felt it to be a disservice to not, at least, preserved a moment of silence and dignity. After he had carefully draped his coat (his best one) as gentle as possible, he got up. Hoping for his father to see his action for what it was. 

Vergil’s eyes were unreadable. Brow raised minuscule as he digested his son’s conveyance. He raised his head and sighed.

“Alright,” he closed his eyes. “After we depart from this island, I shall tell you. On that you can have my word.”

Nero nodded, lips thinning before he moved his weight from one leg to the other. Suddenly, not knowing the next course.

“For now, leave us,” Vergil had ceased to mind Nero’s presence and directed assiduity to the figure. (Nero wasn’t sure if he should refer the person was truly ‘Dante’. Something was still missing, something incorrigible left hanging.)

Seeing unequivocal dismissal, the young man treaded back to the entrance. He toed the floor to not make unnecessary noises, electing to not create disturbances if he could help it. A gander made as he neared the door, Nero saw his father deftly fixing the coat draped over the body. Intimately reverent, sorrowful and that touch the quarter demon was not privy to.

When he resurfaced, chaos greeted him. The hours the two was gone had been a mess. Lady had all but dragged him, counting on his strength to mitigate the damage. Demons were overflowing, annoying and grating. Nero got to work. It was not until he finally discovered where these things were coming from that he noticed his father’s presence again.

Surmising somewhat his father would expend his time to actually do some devil hunting, Nero came to him. Yet instead, Yamato was loaned to him, the wordless handing over done in mere minutes as Vergil saw the situation. He had shown no interest to delve deeper. His father’s hand held onto the amulet, now that Nero realized shared the same red gem as the one he wore.

Nero wondered a whole lot thereafter. Pushing him to be impatient than normal, to be more vicious to his foes. It was childish, and he knew it. But this was one of those times he was left disconcerted that Nero needed a release.

He let Yamato mutely slashing. His wings ruffling with deadly strikes and his eyes glowed molten gold. The feeling of tearing and cleaving into numerous flesh relieving. A breather after the suffocating atmosphere.

Fires burned through the cathedral, engulfing its foundation and licking the high ceilings. The azure flame cruel and majestic in its ruination. Vergil always left frosts after his occupation, but this was something people tend to forget. That Nero sometimes forgot.

Vergil was first and foremost, a fierce creature. The layers of not-so commonality were merely his way to acknowledge the world around him. The rigidity he held hid an irascibility. His mercy was that he could be patient. Intelligence ruling his being, lest he would always be wrathful to the littlest of errors.

At the face of the aberrant dealings the Order of the Sword was suffering, Nero shuddered at how much more his father could have done. How dreadful and curious to see Vergil allowing for someone to have a strong hold on him. How untenable for his father to do the thing he did – by all means, shouldn’t he be more joyful on finding Dante again? Elated even at the revelation. Not with a sword to the chest in reciprocation. Snuffing the life out.

So many questions, so many voids, so many confusions still.

And all Nero could do was wait.

\---

The job went on longer than any party would have liked, but Nero would be damned if he didn’t offer his hand down. To at least be around until the island was not at the brink of the biggest meltdown anymore. He didn’t assist Credo, the man knee-deep on whatever he had saddled himself with, instead he chose to assist Kyrie. Apparently related to the man, despite having a wildly differing disposition. She projected meekness and gentleness that valued the place’s conservativeness. A slight young woman whom Nero was surprised managed to live this long. Then again, it didn’t seem like she ever stepped into a dangerous territory all her life. Protected and secluded, yet not naïve enough.

She was reliable in handling the orphan children, most driven out of their places. Confusion and unsureness mixing as one in this post-Order kind of situation. Often Nero ended up sleeping in one of the bunk beds, being widely accepted despite his connection to the instigator of all this. His Devil Bringer and physique aided to lessen those who wanted to vent their misconstrued frustrations on him. Several former cultists, the top ones, cursed him. Pointing faults and false claims when they saw him – those were hardly listened by the people anymore. Corruption and power abuse finally had their karmas.

Lady and Trish washed their hands. Electing to lurk around just because. While there were little rewards, they didn’t exactly voice it out. Aware that Vergil was not in the rightest of mood, and their status as ‘colleagues’ precarious at best. Nero shrugged, leaving them whatsoever. During his interactions with the smaller children, he noticed just how lucky he had been whisked away from this place. He couldn’t imagine having to live under such strict scrutiny. Not to mention the sheer blindness these people suffered. That was one thing he was grateful for. It did ring a specific unpleasantness though, at the easiness in which if Vergil had never wanted him.

Nero shuddered at that, shaking his head before he walked again. He was nearing the burnt wreckage, at the center of the city. The vastness deterred anyone from starting a clean-up. Too busy with other stuffs, like say, reconstructing the governing body. It was a mess, one that Nero steered clear from. Not wanting to waste time and energy to a city that he didn’t even live in.

This temporary juncture couldn’t be avoided. What was supposed to last until Nero felt he had helped enough (out of pity as masked sympathy than anything), turned into several more days. Thanks to his father coming down with that migraine again. This time even Nero was booted out. Only the promise made underground kept him at bay. He would stubbornly deny he was worried, a thing which he exempted from under the night shroud.

He kicked stray charred wood away. Going around the place with no predetermined action. Smoke was still wisping even when the fires had subsided into mere ambers. Orange and blue glow had lit up the sky when the flames had been raging. Maybe that was why nobody dared to come at Vergil. Be it the grateful ones or the ones with collateral damage. Nero wagered over time his father might even be whispered as both an instigator and someone who put a stop to the Order. Things that he would undoubtedly dismiss. Tittles never appealed, though they had their own merits when called for.

Nero wondered if his father buried the body or kept it under wraps. The latter brought up unsavory taste, hurting his imagery of Vergil too much. That one was quickly snuffed when he remembered he hadn’t smelled any rotting flesh and the likes when he was within the building his father was ensconced. So, it wouldn’t be that, thankfully. Nero was not ready to put his father into the unhinged category. It felt like he indirectly dishonored his father. Just no, let’s stop with that. But he also never saw his father coming out, the blinds drawn over his window. It didn’t sound like a good call to leave this apparent twin who pushed Vergil to commit murders and burning down almost half of the city here at the island. A tombstone amongst strangers. Thus, a burial didn’t seem likely either.

The young fledgling couldn’t exactly return to that cursed lair. The ways to reach the entrance destroyed, rubbles rained down on the tunnels as the foundation gave away. He wanted to ask, he really did, but inciting Vergil in this weird tension between them was the stupidest move. Nero knew he was quite a dumbass at times, but he wouldn’t take this cake. Damn if it didn’t make him come up with speculations though.

Nero felt as if he were in one of those novels. What were the names? Ah, Agatha Christie and Conan Doyle or something like that. He was never patient enough to read through the suspense, curious at the unfolding mysteries, yes, but the wait killed him. He skipped several chapters usually, yet when he reached the ending, he was a bit confused because he missed important parts. He might have reading as a hobby, though that didn’t mean he would have all the tastes. Not even with his father with his love of Latin works.

It during when he had just finished distributing some supplies alongside Kyrie that Vergil showed up. As regal and cold as ever. Nero had immediately dropped everything.

“There is a ferry leaving in an hour. Finish your business here and inform the women that we shall embark soon,” his father said in that baritone of his. Beseeching while the half demon ignored the rest of the humans around. Vergil swiftly turned, treading pass them, and made to speak no more. Yamato rested at his hip with Rebellion on his back, its tip no longer rusted red.

Nero noticed the red jewel around the skull.

\---

The ocean, for the few times Nero experienced it, was merciful for once.

The waves were pleasant and the weather without its fitful anomalies. He let winds caressed his hair, arms leaning against the railing. There were not many people on board. The deck empty saved from him, Lady and Trish. The three devil hunters basked under the afternoon sun, languidly welcomed after days at the island. Trish was mighty glad, her nose no longer assaulted by the burns and the Order’s leftover knights. She was sipping her iced tea with Lady filling her logbook, the more meticulous of the two when concerning the business.

Kyrie had been grateful, even managed to give him some biscuits she and the children made. The abruptness of his departure not mentioned. Especially when Vergil hadn’t graced her any notice before trailing to wait for the rest of the group by the pier. Several toddlers were surprised by his presence and hid behind the songstress. Nero almost felt exasperated, though ignored it in favor of finally getting off Fortuna.

When the boat set sailed, he chafed his palm around Blue Rose. Dawning realization that this meant he was coming closer to Vergil’s promised elucidation on all of this. The young Sparda had spent the first few hours sharing recent events with Trish and Lady, omitting several. He sensed sharing too much would only spell trouble. Either by his own choice recounting what had truly transpired or Vergil somehow knowing. He didn’t want these two to have to bear Vergil’s direct scrutiny and betrayed his father’s confidence at the same time. It would be disastrous. Too volatile and too naked.

Trish for the most part was receptive, though she didn’t care as much as Lady. The demoness nodding along while the woman listening avidly. When it all came down to it, Lady had known Vergil a bit longer than Nero and Trish combined. There was nothing between her and his father, but prolonged exposure warranted interest. Fortunately, she didn’t prod more. Familiar with Nero’s emotional distress since he was a little boy. His ticks with biting nails and foot tapping intensified when he finished.

But what first had been the excitement of finally able to have his answers (Vergil, as frigid as he was, never redacted his words), turned into apprehension. Nero didn’t understand how and why. Just something that was within his sight and the vagueness deterred his want to reach out. After his conversation with Trish and Lady, he hung around the deck. Ignoring the two staring at his back from time to time. He tinkered with Blue Rose, giving her the usual cleaning with Red Queen resting beside him. His hands stained by the oil and cleaning agent. Devil Arms were a delight to wield, but these had been gifts. His very first weapons hand-crafted under his father’s request to the best smith in Capulet City. Shock and sheer elation coursed his mind when Vergil literally dropped them on his lap. Indicating that with those they wouldn’t need to expend funding whenever he broke an equipment. Not to mention, half of the Devil Arms at the shop only responded to Vergil. Him and no one else. Nero lost count how many times he butted with Nevan and Beowulf. Suffice to say, he kept Blue Rose and Red Queen close. Always in mint condition.

Yet the maintenance ended too quickly. He put away his revolver as Vergil came strolling onto the deck. He had his coat draped over his shoulders, Yamato and Rebellion not on his person. His father stood at the farthest corner, eyes sweeping over the horizon. The island of Fortuna was no longer visible. The waters surrounding them infinitely from every side. Nero didn’t have the luxury on walking away with Lady blocking him with Kalina Anna and Trish kicking his legs. They both gave him meaningful looks, already leaving the father and son when Nero gave in.

Vergil had the photograph in his hand. Acknowledging Nero’s steps.

“Speak,” he said.

 _What is he to you?_ The words echoed in Nero’s mind.

“What did you do with the body?” He asked.

His father took a moment before answering. “Burned. I cremated it as we have no other means,” his tone succinct.

“Oh, I see,” Nero rubbed his head. There was a brief toeing the line then the younger took a deep breath. “Could I now ask what’s going on?” His father would have reminded him to keep eye contact if he wasn’t also thumbing the picture with contemplative look.

“You need to answer mine first,” Vergil started. “How did you find this?”

Nero told him. A consequence of procrastination and chanced discovery at the shop’s library. The details completed bared.

His father sighed, frowning thereafter. It somewhat vexed Nero. “Those books had not been well-placed, I see,” Vergil clicked his tongue. “I shouldn’t have kep-“

“Say that one more time and I swear I’m throwing both of us into the sea,” Nero growled. He crossed his arms, teeth gritting. “I told you, I’m as ready as I’ll ever be to whatever shit you’re about to tell. I’m not a kid anymore, father. I can take it,” he said.

Vergil glared with thinned lips. There was a split second of Nero feeling like he was ten again about to be scolded before his father spoke. “And I have already given you my word now, haven’t I?” He turned around. Making his way down the stairs. “Come, we shall take this to someplace private.” Nero trailed after him.

There was something in the way his father walked. If Nero were to dare speculate, there was _hesitance_ in the gait. Apprehension to impart anything to his son. That did hurt a bit. Trust was a rare, fragile thing and to think Nero had had thought Vergil had been giving his own after all these years. Well, that was a thing for later dates. Right now, he silently entered the room. Noticing his father’s katana and claymore having each hilt decorated with the amulets.

“I do believe we need to go back to the beginning. About your grandfather and what he had done,” Vergil clasped his hands. They each occupied a seat, a tea set placed on the table between them. Nero raised a brow, he knew about Sparda ever since he was eight. When his curiosity started to bloom and he asked about the lady in frame on his father’s desk.

But he kept his mouth shut, leaning his arms on his knees. Soon, he came to know there was much that his father had kept away.

\---

Forgotten as he may be, Sparda was a savior of humanity. Waking up to justice and defied the Prince of Darkness. Mundus was powerful, so much so, but in his rebellion, his grandfather had triumphed. Sealing Mundus away, and along with him, the Underworld. In the beginning, his deeds were hallowed by the humans. The Dark Knight himself referred by the whole wide world.

He had once ruled Fortuna before withdrawing completely. His self never wanted to be tied down as a lord. Nero understood why his presence was intense, his standing abused by the Order. It rankled whatever feelings left Nero had, though Vergil didn’t seem to give it much mind. His face smooth as he went on.

Vie de Marlie was another surprise. Nero now knowing who the scary old woman at that particular island had been. A former leader of the Protectors clan that sided with Sparda when they needed to fight Argosax. Nero remembered the months he was left by himself at the shop, with only Lady and Trish to accompany him. He spent that period sulking, wandering around after school. The place had been too barren without his father’s presence filling it. Lucia was kind enough to inform him about Vergil returning before a portal appeared inside the shop. Jolting him away from the warded basement. His father was patient, decidedly nonchalant to spare his embarrassed son when Nero hugged him. Still too short and a mere teen.

Vergil stopped short. A hitch in his narrative when they reached the part about his grandmother. It wasn’t blatantly obvious, but Nero wanted to believe he knew his father to notice him sipping his tea as a distraction. But as always, Vergil trudged on.

And Nero must say how much he found fresh hatred for Mundus. For the longest time, that one particular demon was nothing but a footnote. Hearing about Sparda’s rebellion and reading on it in the past, there was no direct connection, nothing that he had strongly felt about. Yet here he was, learning about his family’s past.

About how devoted and warmly in love Sparda and Eva were. Defying any impossibilities to settle down and created life together. His father was born a twin, the same hair and eyes. A mirror to each other. That younger brother’s name was Dante. They lived with their mother and father, growing up in a mansion at a city called Redgrave. Peaceful days aplenty and Eva took good care of them.

Then, Sparda, the Dark Knight himself, disappeared. Leaving behind his family. Vergil didn’t delve more into it. His tone somber and accepting of the futility to find any closure. Nero had thought Sparda was gone in the most natural way with time and age taking the demon away. But now that his grandfather’s fate remained unknown left a strange taste in his mouth. Nero kept his silence and kept listening raptly to his father.

If Vergil noticed how much Nero’s eyes shone with unspoken emotions, the half demon didn’t show any indignation.

Mundus, for all that he was a demon, had never forgot. His defeat, his humiliation, his sealing. He wouldn’t let go. Never would. When his father and his twin were eight years old, demons attacked their home. His father was saved by Yamato. Eva died, there laid at the doorway. Blood pooling on the burning floor of their house. His father’s childhood was snuffed ever since, leaving behind nothing but a debt that was demanded of him. A spilling of life for only the desiccation of Sparda would satisfy Mundus.

Inadvertently, Nero broke the cup in his hand.

\---

“Fuck, I’m… Shit,” the young Sparda rubbed his face. A clothe was procured from his right. “I…. so back then, at Mallet it was him?” He hissed as he wiped the blood off his other hand.

“Yes,” Vergil drank his tea. “I didn’t manage to kill him,” his voice was dark, “but it had been enough,” he said.

“I know you dislike it, but I’m sorry for that to happen to you, father,” Nero put the ceramic shards away. “It’s… a lot to take in. I never knew that he killed grandmother. Bastard,” he punched the chair arm.

Vergil hummed. Closing his eyes as he leaned back. “You shouldn’t have,” he exhaled. “I never wanted you to,” his father said.

And that still peeved Nero, but he was too tired being testy.

“You haven’t told me the rest of the story though,” Nero spoke after several breaths, “Haven’t told me about him.” The statement hung in the air as Vergil eventually opened his eyes.

His father’s blue gaze sharp. “You are going to,” he said. Cryptic.

The port was visible from their window. A whistle signifying the ferry was about to dock. They didn’t have any more time in this monologue. After hopping off the ferry, they would no doubt head to Devil May Cry.

Nero blinked.

_Oh…_

“It’s connected with the basement, isn’t it, father?” Nero slowly inquired. 

He tilted his head up. Vergil’s face more than enough confirmation.

Who would’ve thought this is how he is finally allowed to enter it?

\---

Trish and Lady had been swiftly dismissed. They only nodded, Trish placing herself behind Lady as she revved her bike. His father chose to open a portal. A short cut. Nero waved over his shoulder as it gradually closed. Lady giving him lopsided smile with a wink from Trish.

The shop’s light was nonexistent. The electricity cut when the job was long. Stale air greeted them. Dusts settled on everything. Nero kind of forgot the iffy task on cleaning up. There bound to be more accumulating in the other rooms. He was not looking forward to that.

Contrary with the usual, his father headed straight to the basement without resetting the place yet. He hadn’t even shed his coat and put his swords back on their pedestals. Nero wordlessly stepped behind him.

Stomach clenched as he watched his father undoing the locks. The hum and vibration were vastly different compared to his own efforts. Bending smoothly, abiding under Vergil’s hands. The layers released the next one, again and again until Nero noted the changing shade. The seals changed the wood and metal. Obscuring their true colors. It was with trepidation that Nero grasped the fact that he hadn’t even scratched the true surface. Not even Trish managed to reach notable level back then. His father’s work was truly something else.

The door creaked open and his father flicked the switch. The sight was not within the range of Nero’s expectation.

The floor was tiled with the walls painted. There were no piles of junks or even boxes. The temperature cool enough to be comfortable. Venting had been installed, allowing clear exchange of air. The room was clean, spotless even. Nero saw the chair with the table, a small shelf at the corner and vases. There was an empty suitcase, the old school one which was heavy and stocky. Leather made and expensive to come by nowadays. To his right, there was a cloth hanger. Red dominated the accoutrements. He now knew where his father stored most of the clothes that he purchased despite never favoring such jarring hue.

“This feels more like a living room than an actual basement,” Nero commented. “I thought it was an extra storage for the more dangerous Devil Arms or artifacts like the Arcanas or some rare, powerful trinkets.”

“Never that,” Vergil said. “Close the door,” he told Nero and after it was shut once more, his father continued, “You have said so yourself that you are ready for anything,” at that Nero nodded, “Then you understand that there is no going back anymore. All the things I have told you should remain within this family. The women shall not be an exception. Should you break this, our confidentiality, do remember that I will retribute. Whether you are my son or not, there will be consequences, Nero.”

And Nero didn’t doubt for even a second. He had to apologize to Trish and Lady, but that was such a tiny thing. This was much, much important. So much so.

“I promise, father. These lips are sealed,” he said. The young man was even willing to do some weird blood pact ritual if that would ease his father.

He wanted to know. Needed to. Had to.

Because this gnawed at him and he wanted that itch to stop. To be allowed the whole picture. To find the right course of action regarding his family’s past.

_Regarding this esoteric twin whose name his father’s tone never fail to caress._

“Alright,” Vergil nodded. His stance assured, no longer holding himself back, no more that excessive alertness.

The half demon snapped his fingers and Nero rubbed his eyes. The distinct shudder felt when a powerful mirage ruptured. His father’s magic was insane. The fissures gave way, crystals glinting and disappeared. The basement was the same. Not one thing was moved.

Until Nero saw the casket.

He had been standing stock still when Vergil let his hair cascade down. Bangs covering his eyes and framing his face. His father’s navy coat exchanged with a red leather one. Yamato was placed on one point with Rebellion on another. Flanking the casket. Blades drawn and pointed downwards. Vergil let Nero stepped forward, granting a look inside.

Nero stilled once more.

White hair and closed eyes (which were undoubtedly blue). Possessed in the flesh.

Dante laid there, intricately dressed. The pale face unmistakable. He looked younger. More so than the one at Agnus’ lab. Age never touched the skin, hinting nothing. How does he look my age? Nero hysterically thought. He touched his neck, finding no pulse and felt ice. Yet his lips were devoid of that dark hue, his cheeks tinted, with his limbs pliant.

“…. How is he here?” Nero choked, “Then, who was it back then?” He whipped at Vergil. “What happened to him?” His hands gripped the edge, feeling the solid wood. Nero was well and truly discombobulated.

His father touched Yamato’s hilt. “I didn’t kill him,” he said, “I simply took him back from that wretched vessel,” Vergil hissed.

Nero didn’t understand.

“For what it’s worth, I was relieved that he had held onto his amulet. It saved him and held him long enough before we arrived,” Vergil moved to stand by the casket’s foot. “I believe now he is whole once more. It has been a horrendously long time, hasn’t it, brother?” His eyes creased.

_What the fuck is his father talking about?_

“You seem confused, Nero. That cannot be helped,” Vergil had the brass to have an indulgent tilt to his lips. “He is likely to still be a bit weak, but he wants to meet you. Now that I have told you everything.”

_He is nowhere. This is just another corpse. Another cold and eerie mirror._

_Is his father losing it?_

Nero stared as Vergil patted his hair down more, the strands no longer held back. His hands fixed the red coat and he took a deep breath. Trance-like. Nero was about just had enough when he felt it.

Another presence. Another surge of energy his demon picked up.

He looked around, frantically searching when it didn’t come from the body. It inundated his senses until he heard a chuckle from Vergil.

_It came from him._

There was a smile on Vergil’s face. A stranger’s smile. Wide with too many teeth, his father never did that. One hand was placed at the hip with one held up. As if in a cheeky greeting. It was his father, but at the same time, it wasn’t. Beaming face and loose posture. Nero couldn’t see him in those eyes.

Nero’s mind stopped.

Maybe he had a weird expression because a breathy laugh came from his father’s lips.

“You have a funny face there,” the voice mirthful.

Nero couldn’t take this anymore.

“So, how do you do, Nero? It’s the first time we meet each other. The name is Dante,” the person grinned.

_Oh, Nero's head feels light._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and cut! :D 
> 
> Is this the correct time for me to tell you all what specific inspiration for this part of the story yet? No? Well, I guess not, it can get a bit spoilery. ;)
> 
> Thank you for reading!  
> [My Twitter](https://twitter.com/blankballs) and [My Tumblr](https://cassia-bea.tumblr.com/)


	4. After the Fires

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> English is not my first language and this is not beta-read. Everything is Capcom's property except this story.

Flames greeted Vergil. Savage and merciless on eating the last remnants of the speck of hope the child still held. Body dirtied and brutalized, half-healed lacerations and almost spilled guts. Yamato was there beside him, too tall and too long. Thrumming within his hand. His bloodied, small hand. He would have hated how much his hair wasn’t held back, but it was the last, last thing in his mind.

He looked up. His home. _Their_ home, a sanctuary where their mother would always welcome them. Despite the countless bickering and fights, childish rage and jealousy marring their clothes with broken wooden swords. It was crumbling, destroyed under the cruel, cruel fires.

And Vergil shall never forget his mother’s body. He couldn’t bring himself to look more.

There was a wet trail on his face, achingly cold in spite of the hellish heat. His ears picked on rustling and instincts pushed anew. The last Sparda gripped his sword, casting a look one final time to his destroyed childhood, and ran.

There were demons chasing him. Thirsty and all jolly to catch him. To snuff his existence. He couldn’t have that. Wouldn’t let that.

Vergil would live. Had to survive and become strong. For his sake, for his mother’s sake, and for his beloved brother’s sake.

He ran and ran and ran until his feet bled.

\---

_It hurt. It hurt too much. But mother said to stay still, and he trusted her for she never lied. Mother would return with his big brother and they would be together again. Everything would be alright._

The flame had a different story.

He didn’t know how long he had been hiding inside. Picking up bravery for he would never let his brother teased him, he pushed the door open. The wood jarred the tender skin and he hissed. Swallowing back tears as the movement grated his flaking and reddened limbs. He was a big boy; he would not cry.

The whisperings made him hid again. This time inside a crack in the walls. The cold stones elevated the stinging, he clamped his mouth with both hands. It was dark still, he wondered if a day had ever passed. He bit his lips when the voices spoke again. He didn’t want to hear it. It was a lie, whoever they were, they lied. Liars were naughty ones.

He closed his eyes when it was too much and woke up to little rays of sun. The house was silent. Daring himself to look out, he moved. His limbs no longer screamed at him and his lungs could finally have fresh air again. He needed to find his brother and mother. They couldn’t have gone far; they wouldn’t have left him alone.

_It was true._

_They didn’t leave him alone. But they couldn’t return to him either._

_Mother was asleep in a dewy red bed and the creatures spoke of his brother no more._

\---

It was arduous and frankly, humiliating. A Son of Sparda reduced to a mere beggar and street rat. He ate everything he could get his hands on, slept in any nooks and crannies, and soldiered through. The humans were precarious. He never trusted them enough to mingle amongst them, but he knew how to play his cards by now. Demons were allured by his blood and he felt satisfaction when he drove Yamato into each of them. Fangs glistening and soon, he found that his sustenance could come from them. Vitality and flesh alike.

When Vergil had difficulties no more, he swallowed his pride and changed his name. A fair price to pay to lessen hindrances in his quest. He would exact vengeance, the right to unleash anger for his family’s blood. On nights where even the tomes and promising dogmas failed in their power, the boy, on the cusp of adolescence, resorted to his poetry book. The only remnant left with his mother’s amulet grounding him.

Oh, how many things he regretted. Things he only admitted during the darkest and the most vulnerable he let himself be when he was alone. He let his dearest brother’s wanting to play slipped like sand, his mother’s soothing voice as she read to him easily brushed, and his emotions to reign over him. Those he gladly welcomed in self-flagellation. The whip magnified his wounds so he could nurture the burns and pain to push him forward.

He had no one. He was alone. A solitary being who had no loyalty with either worlds. A fitting fate.

There was impatience to challenge the one who had decided they should bear his fury for the one who had long been gone. Vergil would not have that. That demon shall taste Yamato’s blade.

For that, Vergil needed more power.

\---

He had buried mother. He was no artisan and had to content with the meagre cross he made from snapped wood as the tombstone.

Days passed before he decided to leave. His feet took him far, until he looked back. His hands were holding onto his gifted sword and the picture frame. He shook his head and walked on. The weight of his amulet prominently felt.

Yet at the end, he couldn’t do it. In the dying sunlight, he returned.

The place was not livable anymore, but he was not as human as the rest. He would manage.

\---

There weren’t enough. He needed more. Wanted more. Yet the libraries and ancient temples had gradually begun to not offer him enough.

Vergil had no means to travel further. His fortune still small and his strength doubtful to be able to fend himself against enemies in a longer journey. He was only feeling relatively safe due to his familiarity with the town. The latest one and he would like to settle down more before he prepared to move yet again.

It was taxing, he was already too acquainted with the feeling.

Sighing as he dropped away from the spines written by masters of old, he pondered. It was something he never wanted to do, yet his mother was an intelligent person and had kept their family’s athenaeum in pristine condition. Hidden eruditions were highly likely nestled deep there.

Despite the bitterness and hesitance, Vergil picked his sword and stood up.

\---

_Ah, damn, he shouldn’t have done it._

_He shouldn’t have but being smart was always his brother’s specialty. Not him. He was always better at hiding away, even his brother couldn’t find him when they played together._

_Oh, it hurt so much. He should have been used to it._

_Maybe now he could go to where his mother and brother truly were._

\---

Vergil had doggedly ignored anything else as he marched into the burnt manor.

He frigidly ignored the broken beams, the strangely meticulous furniture, and how the family painting was somehow untouched. (Fixed, his mind said but he brushed the notion away. There was no one else who lived here. Just ghosts and past innocence.)

The library was, as expected, perfectly untouched and despite the dusts, his mother’s spell had been able to hold it together.

He minutely raised a brow at a disturbed spot in-between the shelves yet elected to ignore it. His hands greedily descended on the books.

Everything was muted for him.

\---

He felt the presence. It surprised him. Miracles never existed for him; he knew that. But he couldn’t bring himself to not reach out.

His body was turning cold and that sliver of warmth was like a gift from the heavens. He held onto it, scared to let go. Not when his heart was beating fast and his mind racing. They worsened his already fading self more, yet he didn’t care.

With shameless desperation, he called out.

_Vergil._

\---

The faint sound prickled his hearing. The book immediately dropped as he whipped around. He sensed it and with a growl, Vergil pulled Yamato. Heading to whatever it was that made the sound.

How dare they. Using that lovely voice to lure him out. To play with the last of his precious memories. Vergil would not have them roaming around. He would rip their chords out, relishing in breaking them piece by piece. No one shall touch the remnant of what was once his.

He rounded a corner; the shed and the garden long lost their vibrancy. Homing in the flickering presence, it was seemingly a cheap trap. Vergil was miffed by how low they thought of him. He was stronger now and drew Yamato completely.

Her blade stopped halfway. And so, did Vergil’s breath.

_It couldn’t be but he berated himself. He knew that shade of hair and skin and eyes as intimately from the moment he came into this world._

\---

Oh, someone was coming. He could hear them.

The sun had still been too bright, though it didn’t deter him to look up.

And what joy he felt.

\--

Dante was too light. Too skinny and limp.

He quickly picked him, swaddling him in his own coat, and went to their broken house. His brother was either too hurt or too far gone that he only smiled and chuckled when Vergil fretted over him.

“You came back,” his little brother said. Voice elated and so, so open. Vergil would have indulged him if he didn’t feel his soul slipping. They had always been connected, and it was only then Vergil realized how much of a _fool_ he had been.

“Please shut up, brother,” the older twin hissed as he found more clothes to drape over Dante. The hearth was well-stocked with logs, it seemed his brother had been living here after the fires. In this damp, soot covered, and dreary place. Vergil caressed his hair. “Oh, Dante, my brother dearest, have you been here all this time?” He whispered. Dante’s wounds were sluggishly closing.

“I can’t leave this place and mother,” the younger halfling replied, “I thought you died too, Vergil. They said they killed you two and I don’t want to leave our home. It has so many memories for me,” he said and there was tremor in his voice.

Vergil shushed him. “Hush now, save your energy, brother. You need to heal first. I’m here now and I will be when you wake. For the time being, rest, Dante. I’ll keep watch for us,” he said. Finding it curious at the ease he put himself into a role that he had thought was robbed away from him. As if it never left and would always be a second nature to him.

Dante acquiesced. Eyes already closing as he let his brother settled him on the sofa. He wanted to keep on being alert and saw Vergil for as long as he could. Alas, his body screamed to him and he wondered if pain had deemed itself to become his lover all along.

\---

While his brother recuperated, Vergil forced himself to look around.

Dante had managed to fix the place with his limited skill to at least be comfortable enough. If it meant having chilling drafts, broken roofs, and charred foundation to be found acceptable. He gritted his teeth; his little brother was not supposed to live like this. Having to fend for himself and with nothing but Rebellion as a weapon. Heavy and difficult to wield in his hands.

There were signs of small traps he made for catching rabbits or other small animals for food. A well-beaten path that led to the small river and a bucket by the kitchen. He was admittedly impressed by the relatively clean spots his brother made. It gnawed him though.

If only he had returned sooner. If only he had been stronger faster. If only he extended his sense and just _noticed_ there was still a sliver of connection. If only….

Vergil stopped himself.

It was useless and time wasting to delve into such thoughts. There might be time where he could sort these later. As of now, he needed to finish patrolling the area and returned to his brother’s side. The last place he needed to go through was the back lawn. There was a grave there, he knew for whom it was. His little brother had needed to bury their mother all by himself. The flowers on it were fresh with all of them red roses. Dante took care of their mother’s resting place well.

_Oh, Dante…_

\---

If only he could utilize Yamato’s ability to open portals already, then he would surely be able to procure more food and medicine for Dante.

His demonic healing was working, that much Vergil could see, but it was slow. It worried Vergil. Dante was stubborn though, after several days on being saddled with bedrest, he wanted to move around once more. Vergil let him be, walking from room to room, only keeping close when Dante started to tire.

“It was another attack. It was stupid of me,” Dante chuckled. The weather was fortunately warm, summer arriving early. He rested his head on Vergil’s chest, the older twin’s arms holding him. Vergil thought he could expend his energy to him for a boost in the healing. “I was just testing if I could catch bigger game, but I went too far and alerted the nearby demons that lurked around the forest. It didn’t help that I nicked myself with Rebellion. They smelled dad’s blood and well, they thought they could kill me and make Mundus proud,” he sighed.

“Where is Rebellion now?” Vergil asked.

Dante pointed towards the cracked window. “I think I dropped it somewhere over there. It was too heavy, but I managed to kill them all with it. Dad really gave me the most annoying and impractical sword ever. I could have kicked more ass with Yamato,” he grinned.

“Maybe,” Vergil snorted and pushed Dante so he could stand up. “Don’t get up, stay here. I’ll find it,” he glared when his brother followed him. He huffed, then with a shrug went back to the living room. His brother never changed.

The claymore was on the grass. Vergil noticed the weird corrosion on its otherwise sharp blade. He touched it and his finger stung from the sticky ichor. He picked the handle and dragged Rebellion back. Poison, Vergil discovered after rifling through their mother’s notes, a potent and rare one. It was only encountered one in a million chance as it could be deadly to the user and volatile.

Vergil wanted to both rip his hair and laugh. Instead, he bit his tongue from disturbing his brother’s sleep. Of course, of course! The first good thing that had happened to him since was, in fact, a Trojan horse. He had his brother back, but he was dying. There was no cure. Not an ounce of an antidote mentioned. He trusted their mother’s written words for it.

Why, oh, fucking why was his brother had to be the one? It was his fault. All of this. If only he hadn’t been too angry at Dante and left that afternoon. If only he had the smart mind to check their house once more. If only he was strong enough.

If only. If only. If only.

How fucking _pathetic_ he was.

\---

Dante was smiling, but he could see the red-stained teeth.

Dante said he was getting better, but he knew his organs started to fail.

Dante walked and hummed, but he noticed it was to hide his shortened breaths and straining heart.

His brother was slowly fading. Vergil hated it.

It was during his frantic searches that he came across the text.

\---

His brother looked at him with betrayal in his eyes. Blue eyes paling and face overflowed with so much hurt, Vergil had needed to look away lest he stuttered with the magic.

There were only few short preparations to be made mentioned in the old, black book with the ancient roots as its seal. It had been easily broken by him, uncaring and rough. Vergil didn’t care. He had his brother in his arms and fuck everything that tried to stop him. Dante was the last of everything good in this wretched world and he would die trying.

He turned deaf ears at Dante’s shouts and questions. Focusing instead to the finished circle, he had painted it with his blood and essence. There was a feeling of lightheadedness, though he brushed it off. He would have given more than this should the practice demanded differently.

\---

He didn’t understand. Why was Vergil doing this? He thought he was happy they were together again. The circle came to life and despite his failing body, he struggled in his bindings. Silk because, of course, Vergil had to be fancy and killing him with softness.

Vergil’s eyes avoided him and that stung more than the prospect of death. He had wanted to at least drift away with his hands around Vergil’s and saying saccharine sweet farewells. But he now knew his brother changed. How stupid of him to not notice it. His brother had been gentle, remorseful even. Something that he never showed when they were younger and their mother still alive.

Was this everything that Vergil ever saw him? A mere tool? A mere stepping-stone for whatever his goal was?

It rattled him and he was too tired to cry. He would not let himself do such in front of this brother. To think he had found Vergil again after those few hard years, only to be manipulated in his weakest moment.

_And how much it hurt because he couldn’t hate him. Couldn’t curse. He loved him too much._

_He truly loved him._

\---

“I told you to have some trust, didn’t I?” Vergil tutted.

He blinked. He felt good, healthy in every sense of the word. But he couldn’t move, couldn’t exactly _feel_ himself. Confused, he opened his eyes and saw a body. _His_ body.

“What did you do…?” He asked. Horrified.

He saw Vergil undid the silk bindings and lifted him (his dead body) from the floor.

“What must be done to save you, brother mine,” Vergil answered. “The poison coursed through your body and would not stop until it ate your whole being. Body and soul. I merely cut the connection. Demonic substance from an Underworld plant is a difficult thing to handle, but I discovered a way,” he explained and pulled Yamato out of her sheath. “Now, I can safely draw every last bit of that poison from your body as it becomes dormant with no soul and only the body.”

He wanted to yell indignantly at how easily Vergil sliced his veins but was disgusted at the dark, horrible liquid coming out. It was an unsettling sight.

“You should rest, Dante. Don’t worry, I’ll keep you safe,” Vergil said to him while he carefully drew every last bit of that malignant substance from his brother’s system.

Dante didn’t completely understand everything that just happened, but he felt miles better than ever before and it was the first time again for him to rest without the fitful tremors and the debilitating coughs as if he were rend in million pieces.

Dante did not completely understand, but he felt silly when he had doubted Vergil initially. There were relief, gladness, and confusion still, though he heeded his brother’s words.

_He could trust him. Dante would always trust him from now on._

\---

“It’s really creepy how they worship our dad,”

“I know,”

“Like seeing these hooded people bowing to this giant ass statue is very fucking surreal,”

“Language, Dante, and I know,”

“How long do you think we have to stay here? I really, really don’t want them to know about us,”

“Brother dear,”

And Dante shut his mouth. Vergil could imagine the eye-roll he made. He resumed his reading, his fingers stained with the numerous notes he jotted down. His back began to feel sore by the countless hours he had spent. Both at the libraries and the hostel’s desk. He admittedly shared Dante’s reservation regarding the island. It was not his first choice yet the allure of Sparda having ruled here once was enough. He knew there was some sort of a cult going on around, though he elected to ignore it. He came here for more power and more knowledge. For him and especially, for Dante.

The black book had only told him on separating the soul and body, _not_ with putting them together again. He expected much. The first few months were horrible. Sometimes he could not discern whether it was his own inner voice or Dante that was talking. Other times, they had quarrels as Dante had also needed to learn about his own soul’s placement. Having no real limbs and only borrowed senses frustrated his younger brother. They made it work. Somehow. The trait they shared was their determination, after all.

His goal was added with a new one. Finding a way to acquire Sparda’s sealed power and using it to siphon Dante to his own body once more. Vergil could not do so with his own strength. It was too dangerous. For the time being, he would keep his brother safe. That was the least he could do.

“Vergil, you should rest,” Dante said after the clock stroke twelve. “You have been hunched for so long, you’re gonna be a shrimp.”

“Just a few more minutes,” he flipped another page.

He did not hear his brother anymore until Dante spoke again, “I’m tired.”

The lights were soon switched off and Vergil changed his clothes. Slipping under the covers of the quite plush bed. Dante sighed, content, and mumbled ‘good night’ before he dimmed. Quiet as a wisp and stagnant. It was a bit warm, but Vergil did not lift the covers away. His brother always liked to swaddle himself with blankets. He hogged them and it was one of the reasons they slept in different beds when their mother noticed. The halfling tried to imagine Dante beside him, face almost fully covered, and snuggled deep into his pillow.

He needed to find the solutions sooner than later. Vergil could not let his brother be like this for much longer.

\---

For all the stuffiness and pompousness of Fortuna, their seaside offered the most beautiful sunrise and sunset. Dante infinitely loved it, content and delighted that even Vergil could physically feel him.

He sat on a bench with the suitcase between his legs. Always near and always locked. It once belonged to their mother. He had initially thought it would be temporary, but the quality and durability were undeniable. Its inside was padded and comfortable enough to place Dante in. He already knew more magic to preserve and made sure each muscle, joints, and organs stayed perfect. His little brother had had been speechless, though he understood it would be too unsafe to store it somewhere else.

Dante did complain a little when Vergil would not stop to look after it every day. The older twin changed his clothes and carefully brushed his hair. Vergil just thought Dante was flustered by the attention. Nobody could touch the case. The halfling’s hands vigilantly on it.

His research continued for another two months before he came across the woman. She greatly aided him with her expertise on supernatural transfiguration and the makings of bodies. In turn, he shared the black book, later on leaving it with her as he had no more need for it. A small, civil exchange. And maybe it was due to the mounting stress or the off-ness he felt lately, that one night when he could tell Dante was already asleep, he ended up with her in her bed. Initially, he had wanted to visit her for another reading materials as he found sleep alluded him (but not Dante). One thing led to another.

Dante was silent throughout the next few or so days. Only appearing during the usual sunset and sunrise. Vergil tried to call out to him, yet he was met with sulking. His brother giving him the cold shoulder was a new experience. He left him be at the end, electing to finish their business on this island.

“Are we going back to the city to find this Arkham guy?”

Vergil stopped in stirring his tea. He had not heard Dante’s voice for quite some time.

“Yes, we are,” he answered.

“I don’t like this guy. He sounds… weird,”

“I also don’t have the best feeling about him, but she said he has better knowledge to make our objectives closer, brother,” he put a few cubes into the cup. Dante was a bit of a sweet tooth; he stifled his grimace when the sugars graced his tongue. This was only momentary.

Dante only hummed. Then sighed.

There was a lull before Vergil spoke, “Dante,”

“Yeah, Verg?”

“We don’t have any strings attached. It was nothing but base needs,” he gentled his voice.

He could imagine Dante rubbing his neck. Looking away.

“Oh…” He started, “Well, at least, now we know you are no cold fish,” he said, and Vergil sighed. “Guess it proves that old man Gru and the guys at the bar wrong, eh, eh? Too bad you didn’t join their bet, Verg. That would have been a lot,” he snickered.

The mercenaries were the rowdiest bunch Vergil had ever the misfortune of meeting, yet that time he needed some sort of a job to sustain their quest and future itineraries. Dante loved the adrenaline high and the rush each moment felt. As best as he could enjoy through Vergil. There was a wistfulness Vergil sharply noticed, even when Dante tried to tuck it away.

Dante did something similar in vein just now and Vergil _knew_ what it was all about. They kept having idle conversations throughout the journey back. Secluded inside their room. While Vergil could care less about others, being branded as some sort of a madman was not feasible. It would only hinder them.

He talked with Dante. His brother’s voice resuming its familiar lightness. There was a relieved happiness embedded there, and Vergil exhaled.

\---

Arkham was revolting.

He trusted him as far as he could throw him. It left a rancorous creep when he had to reveal Dante’s body and his means. He felt naked, laying all his cards on the table willingly, but Arkham needed to know to be able to become more useful, so he could narrow down the search and hopefully, Vergil could both acquire their father’s power and return Dante. Two birds with one stone. Dante shared his sentiment, staying mute whenever Vergil had to talk to Arkham. Or rather, the onerous human sought him out. Vergil made sure to always completely cover Dante’s body whenever he came.

Between the excessive alertness and strained partnership, he found it. Temennigru. A tower that led to a gateway for Force Edge. He had both the amulets and Yamato already. The half demon also made sure to raise the demonic monument far from a dense population. His brother would nag him and become too distracting if he did not. From the woman’s guidance, he managed to create a replica of Dante’s body. An alternative as she warned him of the possibility his brother’s soul not accommodating well being placed inside his original vessel, even after spending only few years within Vergil’s own body. The fickleness of souls and meta boundaries. Elan vital and all that.

If Dante’s soul was not used to having immediate contact with the physical world yet, then let the artificial frame be the one that would be destroyed. That way, Vergil would have better grasp to guide Dante into his body once more. A precaution. Its preparation added more weight with all the meticulousness and demanding tasks he needed to complete.

Vergil got to work.

\---

He did not like how hard his brother was working. He knew Vergil’s constitution was perfect and how he was a creature of discipline, understanding the intricate balance of endeavor and cessation. He knew that and yet, he could not help but felt a tinge despondent.

His older brother carried virtually everything for the both of them. It was, well, he would say disconcerting and unfair. This was also his problem. It frustrated him, but he kept silent about it.

And if Vergil noticed he started to hum during low moments, he did not ask him to stop. He kept on doing so until the night before the execution of their plan.

“Dante?” His brother called. “What is the matter? Is something wrong?”

He shook his head before remembering he did not even have a head. “Nothing, nothing, Verg. Just hmm, running out of songs here.”

“You could do the lullabies mother used to sing for us. Your voice suits those,”

“Really? I- I mean, okay. Wow, glad the audience likes it. So, like, um.. Yeah, okay,”

“Dante,”

_Ah, his brother knew him too well._

“Y-yeah?”

“What troubles your mind? You know I will always help you,”

Sometimes, he wished Vergil did not. If only out of callowness. But this was also fine. It meant he was not alone.

“It’s just, well, Verg, do you think it will work? I have a bad feeling about this, and especially about Arkham, he’s slimier than an eel. I really, really don’t like him,” he finally said.

“I know, Dante. I do understand your reservations,” his brother soothed him. “But we are so, so close. We have to do this. Please, trust me, dear brother.”

_Oh, he trusted him, alright. He would trust him to the end._

“Alright,” he said and prepared to serenade, “alright.”

There was gentleness in Vergil’s words, “Thank you, Dante. Don’t worry about tomorrow, I’ll always keep you safe. I promise.”

He melted all over again. Maybe he was blushing, maybe he was giddy like a child, maybe both altogether. He did not know, but he sang with more vigor well until Vergil fell into a deep slumber. He couldn’t see his brother’s face, couldn’t exactly touch him, and he hoped this little voice of his was enough. 

Then dawn arrived. He stayed respectfully still, giving his brother all the space and focus for the cynosure at hand. Wishing him the best and was looking forward to finally be corporeal once more. He had missed everything.

But the world had a different story.

Pain greeted him with all its bewitching salacity and tenacious embrace. It seemed like it was an especially jealous mistress to him.

\---

If only. If only. If only.

He was cursed with many of those.

Vergil batted those away as his boots stomped each step with all the sound of a gavel. The young girl was behind him. Confused yet furious enough to walk on. At least, she had been useful so far despite being a human. Her skills were on par to eradicate the measlier demons he did not deem enough to waste his time.

Red filled his vision. His hand gripped his amulet so hard that he felt the jewel fractured a little. Vergil was too livid, storms brewing and roaring to _shred_ Arkham. It needled at him how much of a fool he could be. An incredible record. The only thing he was successful in his life. And this time, he was rewarded with having Dante ripped away from him. The emptiness terrifying and uglily scabbing. He despised it.

Oh, that accursed human would burn. Vergil would maul him, break bones, cut every single muscle, rain swords on him until that creature was nothing but a paste. And even then, Vergil could only find satisfaction after he let the remnants simmered in poison. Corroding it for eternity. Oh, Vergil wanted to _rip_ that man’s face and poured acid on him.

_Dante…_

His little brother, his beloved family, his _twin soul._ How he failed him, how unworthy he was for him. He let this happened. Had made his brother to suffer more. Oh, oh, please forgive me, Dante. Genuflection would not be enough; he would forever prostrate himself in his regret if he could.

He hated how he needed to persuade the girl with half-truths. But he was desperate and if bearing the full truth at the price of confidentiality was better at this point, he would gladly do that.

Dante was in danger, all of him was. He needed to _hurry._

\---

It hurt. It hurt so much. And gods, he thought he knew pain by now.

He was split. Stretched. Forcefully embedded into mismatched holes that crushed him.

It was disorienting. His senses scattered. He felt himself moving, felt himself melded with something repulsive, and he could not scream.

Then, abruptly, he was two. The pain still lingered, but he held onto this state like a drowning man.

\---

Force Edge was heavy in his hand and he felt it. What was left of Sparda joining his demon.

He did not let himself basked. He needed to use this new power immediately. The tiny candlelight within him as a constant ringing in his head to piece Dante back. Time was of the essence.

On another time, maybe he would have looked twice at the glimpse the tower provided of the Underworld. Their father’s homeland. On another world, Vergil might have been more tempted to descend.

But he was not.

Arkham’s body had fallen out of the gate. No doubt having a sweet reunion with his daughter. What she did was none of the halfling’s concern. Vergil found Dante and had been infinitely glad that, in the least, his soul was absorbed by the facsimile body.

It was short-lived.

Dante was…

No, _his poor brother’s split soul,_ was confused. The replica whipping around and moaning frantically, while his authentic one was nowhere to be seen. Vergil had managed to rip a portion of Dante after he defeated the eldritch abomination Arkham had had become. Swiftly encasing him into his own body with forceful magic. Fearing he would be lost forever if he did not do so in a split second. Yet he was incomplete.

“Dante, it’s me, Vergil,” the halfling tried to call out. “Come here, I won’t hurt you. We have to put you together again or you’ll hurt more. Dante, please listen to me. Please cease this foolishness!”

Dante attacked him. Feral and savage. A scared animal trying to survive. Biting back from the corner. Trepidation filled Vergil, it distracted him enough for Dante to snatch his amulet. He held it close to his chest, feet stepping continuously far away. He was teetering dangerously to the edge.

“DANTE!”

His brother fell.

And Vergil could feel himself cracked.

\---

The rain should have been full of knives. He deserved not the soft beating of water.

“Are you crying?” Mary asked.

“It is just mere rain,” he replied.

“I see. Though maybe somewhere out there, even a devil may cry when he loses a loved one, don’t you think?” She said.

And maybe it was because the sympathy she extended to him was purely genuine that he did not bristle at it. But the weight behind it bored down on him the more rain fell. He left her. Trudging deep into the ruins. A punishing sight that he openly greeted.

Mary’s words were still echoing as he listlessly walked amongst broken stones and glasses. He never told her about Dante, not even a lick of him mentioned. In his hasty fabrication, he had still managed to redact everything about his brother. But he was careful enough to make his motivation believable. Uttering how he had thought he could revive his last family. His dear mother. (And Vergil heavily asked for Eva’s forgiveness to be used as a ruse such as this, but Dante was important and still much more alive.)

He pulled Force Edge from a rock. In his rage, he had thrown the sword hard. His father’s sword had had not complied to him, staying dormant and useless. The gate had closed then, cutting the two worlds away from each other once more. Vergil cursed himself, he hadn’t completely mastered Yamato’s ability to create portals. His energy was too spent, too empty to even try now. As the demonic edifice crumbled, so did Vergil. The roiling fires and the glacial frost turmoiled in him until he couldn’t feel the devastation anymore.

A revving reached him, and he knew it was Mary driving away. They were strangers, thus Vergil did not see her off. The sky was tinged with the telltale signs of dawn.

His nose picked on a scent.

The rubbles were dug through. His hands blistering and dirtied by the end. Vergil’s breath hitched.

Dante, no, his body, but still a part of his brother, nonetheless, laid there. Trapped between two slabs of concrete. Vergil carefully pulled him, holding him close to his chest. His clothes were shredded but only few bruises were visible. He rubbed his back, never wanting to release him. It was cold against him; Vergil did not care.

He embraced his twin’s body even after the sun rose with the rain gradually receding.

And Vergil could admit that the wetness came from his eyes.

\---

The building was vast enough.

The profession of a devil hunter never crossed his mind, thoughts of the future never were. Yet he had a feeling Dante would have liked it, he remembered the sheer curiosity Dante exuded when he had been a mercenary. The want to feel the kickback of firearms and the chance to swing Rebellion afresh. And most blatantly obvious was Dante’s bloodlust to slay demons. He always crowed and whooped whenever Vergil killed them. Taking the indirect joy from his actions.

Thus, Vergil honored his wish. Pondering that he too preferred to keep himself sharp and while he could have chosen another business, he was in communal with Dante regarding their bloodlust. There was catharsis in the ending of their enemies. Rebellion and Yamato became his essential armaments.

And in the end, he somehow became what Sparda had been. A protector of the Human World. But unlike his father, Vergil would put a fare to his service.

He found Morrison, rumored to be the best informant in the field, and he believed it. The man was smart, and always delivered. Their partnership was pleasant enough. Lady was a surprise, the older girl arrived one day with an aide request. She was better, much steadier, and clear-headed. Her love for firearms and huge ones at that, might make her a good friend with his brother. They seemed to share the same careful brashness. Maybe.

Vergil kept his business at arms’ length. Keeping his privacy secretive and guarded. There were layers and layers formed.

It might be paranoia and guilt, but he hired people to build the basement. His brother’s body was kept in the suitcase and it started to become not viable anymore. They had a permanent place now and Vergil knew it was safe. Leaving Dante in such cramped space was not good, for lack of a better word. The windows on the bedroom were warded, Vergil thought it was not enough. He decorated and made the basement as comfortable as possible, then brought in the casket. He would have purchased a bed, yet the wood had the perfect properties to lace his magic into.

“New storage room?” Mary, no, _Lady,_ asked.

“Something like that,” he said while writing.

“Must have cost a lot,” she commented.

A puny price for his brother.

“It was manageable,” he replied.

Lady gradually settled herself into his life. A careful conviviality forming. If Vergil were needed to provide candor in his view regarding her, then he was willing to grant her due credit with respect. The human had tasted cruelty and hungered for revenge once, weathered but unbowed – something he could understand and deemed her worthy enough. Vergil wondered should she never had the chance to kill her father, would she still be the woman she was today? Or would she simmer until she rotted away? Nobody knew. Not even him. It was just a curious thought for idle mind.

He straightened in his chair and picked up the telephone.

With a voice he reserved for potential clients, he answered it.

“Devil May Cry.”

\---

He came back to Fortuna.

Neither for the woman nor furthering his search. Vergil sat at the old bench, inhaling salty air, and let the sunrays bathed him in its golden moment. Dante sighed, still in-between lucidity and murkiness. But he was aware – amply responsive to Vergil’s nudging. The older twin had taken to meditating, strengthening his bond with his brother.

Dante was a torch, small and weaker than the inferno before. When he had been whole. Asperity drilled into Vergil’s marrow whenever he was reminded of the reality. Dante was hard to converse with, the shattered pieces still mending. At times, there was a sort of _foreignness_ so terribly unusual, Vergil wished he could rip him out and _stared._ But he knew it was Dante. Always had been, always was, always would be.

“Vergil?”

Even his voice was mere whisper. None of that sure fire breath.

“Yes?”

“… how long do we gonna stay?”

“As long as you need. It’s a rare thing for you to be this fine,”

“You don’t mind?”

Vergil sighed. Hands brushing away stray locks. Rebellion’s clear steel provided perfect reflection. He bore into his own eyes. Assuring. “Yes, brother. I do not mind, I never am.”

It was enough for Dante.

_Vergil would keep on answering him. Over and over again. He made a promise after all. A pledge._

_He would keep his brother safe._

\---

One afternoon, something pinged on his radar and Vergil dropped everything. Surprising the waiter when he stood up, leaving behind the coins.

He swiftly passed the crowd, slithering and agile even with Rebellion’s hulking form. Dante was confused, jolted out of his reverie when Vergil’s demon perked up. The older twin moved, sharply focused. On an invisible hunt. He used his senses, looking left and right, up and down. Once in a while he sniffed the air. When after more minutes passed, Vergil stopped at an alley.

There was a group of children. Orphans, his mind supplied. All dark heads except one. He was the tiniest but stood tall. The other boys and girls were on the ground, the latest one crumpling when the boy hit him in the stomach. He could not be older than six. Gangly thin limbs with bruises and bandages. His white cape dirty. There was a fight in his eyes, snarls and low growls. The runt of the litter.

“Oh…” Dante whispered.

_Oh, indeed._

\---

“He’s a mean one, isn’t it?” Dante commented. His presence clearer than ever. “Still, you didn’t have to put him out like that and kidnapped him.”

Vergil draped the blanket to cover the child more. “I do not expert in child-stealing, brother,” he said and moved to sit by the chair.

There was silence for the moment, the waves swaying the ferry.

“I cannot believe…”

“Do not finish that sentence, Dante.”

“Okay, damn, okay. Fine, I’m not going to.”

The situation was jarring enough, he did not need Dante’s smart quips on top of this. He had not known, for how could he? They had parted ways without any sentimentality. There were no calls, no visits, not even a letter he received from her. A short sleuthing told of her fate. Childbirth. It sufficed any further inquiries. The workers at the orphanage had had been looking harried. Too many children to feed, clothe, and bed. Though they seemed to still have the time to gossip apparently. The woman was remembered as nothing but a cheap whore. Scrutinized with having conceived outside marriage. A blight and a bad woman, they said. Sneering. There was not a sliver of care they had towards the child.

It was instinct, Vergil reasoned. The need to take fellow kin under his wings. As the descendants of Sparda, a certain pride of such prestige needed to be maintained. The boy, famished and suspicious, had not come willingly. His antics thinning Vergil’s patience and he tapped his forehead. Commanding him to sleep. It was far easier to whisk the boy away. No one would miss him anyway.

“You’re a dad now, huh?” Dante snickered.

He sighed, opening his book. “It seems so. But I think taking care of a child will not make things that much different than before,”

“You sound ridiculously confident,”

“I have experience.”

“What? Since when? I have been with you for- Oh, fuck you.”

He imagined Dante was also flipping him. He kept on reading. A few hours passed yet the boy was still sleeping. Clearly lacking any as his spell had already worn off. Another telling of the perfect management of the institution at the island.

“Say, Vergil,” Dante started after several beats. “What did you expect to find before? I know you also didn’t know he’s your son until you actually saw him. So, what was it that you were thinking of finding instead?”

His little brother could be sharp if he wanted to be. Vergil sort of forgot about that.

“Your soul, brother,” he answered. Truthfully. “It was a false alarm.”

Dante chuckled, but he knew him too well. “Oh, well, false alarm indeed. We have a mini Sparda now though, so I think it’s not all bad, right?”

“It is not,” Vergil agreed as he glanced at the boy. Who buried deeper into the bed under the weight of slumber. “It is not at all.”

\---

Nero was his name.

At first, he was as jumpy as a cat and acted like one too. Hissing and hiding inside the most precarious corners. Vergil felt he brought home a pet than a child. Nero was downright making a war, too scared and unfamiliar with everything.

“Kidnapping has its downsides, huh, Verg?” Dante jibed when he was lucid and solid in consciousness.

Vergil ignored him.

Gradually, they formed a truce. From there, each side assessed each other. It was Vergil who relented and made an attempt. Modest things such as favorite meals, general likes and dislikes, the boy’s tendencies. He left him to his own space. The once empty room at the end of the upper floor was fitted with furniture. It was the first for Vergil to be the one who was demanded to make the moves. To initiate them and could not expect sound outcomes each time. An exercise in patience and perseverance. A contemporary form of test. But Nero existed due to his own doing, and Vergil would not let a son of Sparda to be trampled by the world.

Lady took a shine with the boy. Poking him and pulling him out of his shell. She was the more human from two of them, after all. The matters of socializing and connecting with others came far easier to her. Nero liked her. Perking up whenever she was at the shop. She mellowed him and peeled his front. Unwittingly making Vergil’s task much easier and he could admit him to pre-school without much of a fuss. Nero was amenable by now to listen to him. Both lectures and mere greetings. The teachers were delighted and always praised him whenever he, Lady or at the rare times, Morrison, picked him up.

It was when three years had passed that one day, Nero approached him. He was sorting out the forms and requests from Morrison and the direct clients, sighing at the messy scrawling on some. Illegible and hindrances.

The tuft of white hair entered his peripheral.

“What is it, Nero?” He turned.

The boy did not answer, and he was about to remind him of the muttering when he noticed the way Nero toed the floor. Hands hidden behind his back.

“Do you want to give those?” Vergil inquired.

There was a short biting of the lips. Then slowly but surely, Nero offered the envelope and flower. He stood around, playing with his shirt tails as Vergil opened it with a paper knife. The handwriting was prim, he could see the effort to replicate Vergil’s own. The origami was creased at the edges and there were little rips along the stem.

“What a sweet kid you have, Verg,” his brother’s voice startled him.

He coughed and settled the gifts on the desk. “Thank you, Nero. That is very kind of you,” he said. Nero almost flinched when he set his hand on his head.

Awkwardness made the two stiff, until Dante sighed. Loudly.

“For fuck’s sake, _hug_ him, will you?”

And it was the first time again for Vergil to ever do such with someone else. Nero was short, swallowed by his frame, but he did not pull away.

\---

Dante burst out laughing when Vergil saw Nero skidding on the floor. The scorched wooden floor.

“He is a stubborn child,” Vergil sighed after he closed his son’s bedroom.

“Takes one to know one,” his younger twin said. “You know, you could just warn him not to touch the seals. Spared him the embarrassment,”

“And fueled him even more? Brother, I think we know he is too curious for his own good sometimes,”

“Gracious, you mean all the time, Verg. I swear he is much sneakier than I had been. Dad was not pleased when I tried go into his study alone,”

Vergil checked the runes. Intact and as untouched as ever. He stood up.

“Apparently he inherits _your_ bad side,”

“Hey! How can I? And for the record, I take dibs on the cool uncle.”

“How lovely,” Vergil sighed.

The decision to add another layer to the door was a good one. Nero became wily and inquisitive as he grew, the basement was his newfound quest. Vergil had mastered the art of conversing with Dante mentally fortunately. Allowing for more private conversations. It had the added effect of hearing his brother’s wonderful tone and provided enough entertainment in boring jobs since Dante was nothing if not chatty.

That was only when he did not feel any smarting fissures and could hold on during the agreeable days. Nero incited him to be more cognizant but even lately his nephew’s subconscious effect was diminishing. The presence of another family losing its novelty. Dante was incorrigible most of the time, voices and hisses blended into a startling existence.

Sometimes Vergil could not feel his soul. Waning and flickering.

_It scared him._

He took to longer jobs and trips. To find answers for the lost piece of his brother’s soul. Lady was indirectly exploited with her willingness to look after Nero. With Dante’s hoarse insistence, he tried to return with interesting trinkets or books for his son. Vergil looked high and low, from the secluded mountain shamans to the scorching dessert priestesses. He investigated supernatural sightings, places where he could feel the lines between the two worlds to be thin. Yet he never ventured farther than that.

Accidentally alerting Mundus or his servants of his presence was too dangerous. Dante was still incomplete and in pain, he could not risk his safety. And truthfully, Vergil had not thought of vengeance for a long time. He had Dante and Nero in mind. Once he had almost lost everything due to being weak and foolish, Vergil was old enough to not repeat the same mistake anymore.

“You should tell him about us,” Dante once said in the dead of the night.

“No,” Vergil had swiftly rejected. “He is still too young, he will not understand,”

“You mean you don’t trust him enough,” his brother sighed.

“Yes,” it was easy to admit. “He may be my son and your nephew, but I will not be as swift as to tell him everything. I cannot let anything more happen to you, Dante,” and how Vergil wished he could hold his face. Assuring him while he stared deep into his eyes. So much like his own yet so different.

“I know,” Dante whispered, “I know.”

But Vergil heard the hesitance. As if his brother felt responsible and Vergil’s words were solecism.

This was new from his younger twin and Vergil did not like it. 

Not one bit.

\---

Mallet was making him too alert. Too strung up. And Dante was also feeling such. He could feel him trembling, trying to hold himself together to be conscious throughout. The older halfling threaded carefully. Senses heightened with Yamato at the ready. On his back were Rebellion and Force Edge. He had been doubtful on bringing their father’s sword along, but this was Mundus. The artificial demoness, Trish, had been quite insistent about arming himself well.

He had almost dispatched of her when she turned her back at the shop, yet her _face_ had piqued Dante’s interest. His brother was vividly clarified for what felt like forever now and Vergil stalled in drawing Yamato. For his brother, he was willing to tolerate the artificial demoness. It was fortunate that Nero was currently on a school trip, he left Lady a note to look after him for the time being.

As he ventured deeper into the island and fought its denizens, the more he picked up a familiar scent. A _very_ familiar one. He dared to hope. There was no denying it, he was intimate with it. Engraved deep into his sense. Dante tried to help, looking for some kind of a pull. It was elusive, slipping away whenever Vergil encountered a greater demon.

Until Vergil came across the mirror and it attacked him then.

\---

The sheer cacophony and ringing shook him to the core. Making his older brother lost his focus and stance, allowing for it to steal Rebellion away. It entered the mirror again, hiding itself once more. He was too frazzled to make out any of it and Vergil implored him to have a brief respite. Himself furthering their journey at the castle.

He closed his eyes.

The next time it showed itself, Vergil got kissed by Rebellion lovingly and viciously on the stomach. It should not have immobilized his brother for too long, but it did. Woefully enough for it to grab Force Edge in exchange of Rebellion. It disappeared yet again. Vergil cursed, still elegant though he could note the frustration on being bested so easily.

He pondered. 

He could not see it completely and that gnawed at him. It _felt_ like him, the pull was undeniable, yet its behavior was not _him_. The sneaking, the slithering, the silent aggression. It had driven Rebellion without mercy, the intent crystal clear. There was nothing of any reflection that announced it was a part of him. Not when it deemed Vergil the enemy. A foe to be defeated. It knew enough about Force Edge, their father’s sword an important thing in its eyes. It had almost wanted Vergil’s amulet also, only jerking back when his brother extracted Rebellion away. Before Vergil could even begin to speak, it was gone. In wisps of dark smokes and shrouds.

Was it really him? It could not be. He would never execute his attacks on Vergil like that. Their fight should be out in the open, with a clear distinct challenge. With guts and honor. Not cowardly such as this. Yet if it was not him, then where was that part of him? His missing self. Vergil noticed it when they first arrived, his brother so much in-tune and had deeply engraved every part of him in memory. Could it be a ruse? Like with that demoness? (He was still curious about her and he could not, somehow, he just could not, let Vergil killed her.)

It had to be, he needed to believe that. That was not him. It was vile, its voice was grating, and most important of all, it served Mundus. He rather be broken into torturous pieces rather than kneeling under him. He wanted to believe that. He really did.

Then it was there for the third time, and this time, Vergil was ready. He expertly swung Yamato, preventing it from escaping. His brother’s spectral swords were beautiful as ever. It evaded those, and when it realized how vastly different in caliber Vergil was, it tried to run. Making a game of cat and mouse. This repulsed him, he would _never_ do that. He would stand his ground and _fight_. Battle cry and war roar and snapping teeth.

It was _not_ him. He refused anything otherwise.

Yet the world was never that kind to even his smallest delusion.

Its tactic changed all of a sudden. With frantic movement, it lunged at Vergil. His brother guarded, Beowulf equipped and ready, yet the blow never came. Its long claws snaked between a blink and it broke the amulet’s chain. Force Edge shone, blinding the place for a moment before everything about it changed. Finally showing their father’s true sword, the Devil Sword Sparda. And the sword’s resonance was so great, it screeched. Seemingly rejected.

It dropped the awakened sword, stepping away in harried moves. Trembling and scratching at its mask. Vergil let his doppelganger picked their father’s weapon as he slowly approached the screeching figure trapped in its own hysteria. The black clouds swirled around with the shrouds shredded. It still screamed.

The mask, no, the _muzzle,_ was finally ripped off. The sound too horrible to describe.

And he stilled. Crushed and horrified and was reminded how _shitty_ his luck could be.

_“What have Mundus done to you, dear me?”_

\---

Vergil wanted to allay it. No, _him._ That was his brother. A part of him no matter what.

He sheathed Yamato and he opened his palm, nearing him as if he were trying to come closer to a wounded animal. ‘Dante’ did not recognize him, eyes dark with red tears streaming down. That fraction of Dante may not know years had passed, changing Vergil, the two of them, different. The twin picked the other’s half of the amulet, letting him to discern that Vergil was no threat. Only wanting to return the rightful portion to its owner.

The amulet was fast to be repossessed after Vergil placed it down on the stone floor. Close yet still far enough for a safe distance. ‘Dante’ cradled the jewel, holding it like a lifeline and Vergil gritted his teeth. Could not help to feel the rage at Mundus. For the audacity.

His brother’s replica body was beyond recognition. Armor plates encasing it as chains and bindings encircled the exposed skin. Overflowing with insidious magic. There were… _decorations_ on him. The dead flower wreaths around his ankles and wrists, the metal choker that pulsed purple, and the lips. Oh, Mundus would _pay._ His mouth was sewed, and painted red. Vergil could tell it had nasty hexes interlaced with the threads. It was sick. And he just _knew_ Mundus enjoyed it.

He needed to get ‘Dante’ out. Releasing him from this accursed frame and brought him away from this island. From Mundus. From everything.

But fate never liked him.

After the brief silence of ‘Dante’ caressing his amulet, he lifted his head to Vergil. Something flickered in his eyes. Recognition maybe, though that was nothing but a pipe dream. ‘Dante’ blinked, and he whipped his head around. Looking for something. Vergil saw his gaze landed on the Devil Sword Sparda and he stood in front of it. ‘Dante’ snarled. It sounded desperate, and Vergil hated how much in the dark he was. He did not understand, ‘Dante’ did not give him any chance. They fought again; ‘Dante’ determined with all his might to get his hands on their father’s sword. No matter what.

Despite his razor-sharp claws and deadly strikes, Vergil chose to be defensive for once. It felt forever had passed before he heard his younger brother tried to open his mouth. What came out were mere growls and distorted syllables. Demonic and so, so distressed. It did not last. Hysterics yet again, ‘Dante’ charged at him. This time, his eyes were wide, _fearful,_ and fresh blood flowed out of them.

“Kill him,” he heard Dante said. Begged. “Please, just end him, Verg.”

He tightened his grip on Yamato, “What are you talking about, Dante? Stop with this foolish thought.” Vergil jumped out of the way when ‘Dante’ landed a particularly heavy blow. Cracking the stonework.

His twin hissed. If he could shake him, Dante no doubt would. “Just do it! It will be merciful!”

“No, I shall not!” Vergil shouted.

“Please, Verg,” the half demon never heard his younger brother pleaded like this. “Kill him. Free him, please I am fucking begging you. I can’t stand seeing him like this!”

Vergil delivered a wide kick, Beowulf once again at arms. He ignored Dante, electing to find a way to subdue the manic creature. The eyes were becoming unseeing, there was not a speck of his brother there anymore. Yet he could sense that small flicker. That small candlelight inside still.

He felt a stab in his mind and skittered in his run.

“Dante?”

“Please, Verg. He’s suffering too much; I can feel it. He is too far gone, I can’t even call out to that part of me anymore,” Dante said. Tone bleak. He sounded too close to breaking down.

Vergil could not do it. Did not want to do it. Would not allow it.

_But he knew that would be a mercy only he could grant._

“Please, big brother.”

_Oh, Dante…_

Vergil exhaled, “Alright,” and finally drew Yamato. Her blade shone even under the somber sky. She was quiet, respectful. Heeding his will. “Your wish is my command, little brother.” He uttered. Seceding and heavy.

The next time ‘Dante’ came straight towards him, Yamato pierced metal and skin until she reappeared on the other side.

Vergil forced himself to turn deaf.

\---

Trish felt the bond broke. She did not have the time to celebrate under the cold, cold stare pinning her. It was icicle. She kept her head down, foregoing thanking the half-demon and showed him the way to Mundus.

And then she stood far, far away.

\---

The battle with Mundus was hardly felt. Numbness saturated everything.

The emperor of the Underworld was pushed further and further back. His wings and whole being bristling with rage. He was not accepting of such repetition. At the opprobrium on being defeated once more in his quest of subjugation by Sparda. Even when it was his halfling get that dealt the blow. Even in death, even when he was nothing but a memory, forgotten by the ones who he had sacrificed himself to defend, Sparda still stood over him. Still won.

Yet this spawn who was burning with blue flames and brought upon such heaviness did not have a shred of Sparda’s cockiness. None of that righteousness and justice, only a storm which rumbled with every cadence the half-demon made. An orchestra of his making that Mundus was swallowed in. Thunderous and murderous, but its master was a specter. Still and austere.

At the end, this diabolicality followed Mundus into the gate. The fissure between the two worlds. The Son of Sparda forced him back. To return to the Underworld once again. It was scalding and Mundus roared at his devastating loss as the gate was shut closed. Destroyed until it was no more.

In all the exerted strength and depleted apoplexy, Vergil finally felt the air again.

\---

“Why?”

“She’s no longer Mundus’ servant. You cut the spell,”

“Still, she was involved in his plan to lure us,”

“And it was only because she was under his control,”

“Should that be her only saving grace? Or is it because she has our mother’s likeness?

“Both and I’m not going to deny that,”

“You are too soft,”

“And you are too cold sometimes,”

Silence.

“… Sorry,”

“No matter,”

They were on their way to return to the mainland. Trish was leaning in her seat, looking at the horizon. They did not speak. She was fine with it, electing to jolt some fishes with her lightning. Passing the time and ignoring his glances.

“Vergil?”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry I forced your hand,”

Vergil’s hand twitched, but he kept his course. He took a deep breath before he spoke again, “You will stop with that, Dante. It is my choice at the end, and I will not let you bear it all like a selfish child.”

He knew it was too harsh, but his brother was always too benign, too _guilty,_ when Vergil was concerned. He never liked that.

“Still, I’m sorry, and thank you, for granting my wish,” his brother said, soft and wanting. But there was a relief there that the older one noticed.

At that, Vergil touched his necklace. “Your amulet is gone, swallowed by the ichor and wisps,” he left the words settled.

Dante caught the implication, “I don’t feel anything, can’t sense anything anymore, Verg,” he said incredulously. “That was a piece of my spirit. It is gone now,” Vergil felt like his brother was trying to gesticulate.

“You killed that part of me,” _and I had been the one to make you._

Vergil frowned, though he nodded. He looked at his reflection on the glass, “I know,” he said with his hand still palming his own amulet, “I know.”

\---

They did not talk or even mention about it when they arrived at the shop. Neither brought the matter up. Too raw and too fresh. Vergil left his brother alone for the time being.

Nero was advancing in his study and his curiosity was insatiable. His son tried again and again to open the basement; it was quite an endearing sight he must say. Showed his character and how he was truly Vergil’s child. Like father, like son, one would say. The library was their bonding place, a moment suspended in time where Nero shed his juvenile energy for a lull in a steady conversation about demonology, exorcism, and pure pagan magic. The young child absorbed the knowledge and wanted more. Always was. As he grew taller, he could pick the higher shelves without asking for permission anymore. His notes accumulated with the passing time and failed attempts, sketches and steps scratched and written over. It was a good practice for him, now that Nero knew when to stop or at least, avoid any trigger.

Lady shook her head, exasperated but taking her hands off. She was not his parent, and she knew where the boundary lied, for that Vergil appreciated the thought. The halfling left Nero in her care since work was still work and a job was still something that he must do. The business brought him repetitions that wound him down. Giving him the room for common mediocrity. Trish stayed, trailing after him and he accepted the gesture as it was, but gave her no mind. Unimportant and not perceived as anything more. He had almost let her blended with his life in the background when she chose to protrude herself once more.

It was only because of Dante waking up that he was reminded his brother would not be too happy if Yamato even as much as grazed her neck deeper. Vergil sighed, sheathing his sword, and adjured her to leave. He heard his brother’s approving voice, and decided it was worth it.

Vergil then turned to his study, deciding to bury himself in yet another pile of books. Newly procured from a merchant that a client had kindly told him of, she herself a frequent patron of the seller.

“You’re still searching, aren’t you?” Dante sighed.

“Yes,” Vergil opened a tome, “I am.”

“Verg, it’s over. I told you that my soul could not even call out to that anymore because it’s _dead._ Why won’t you believe me?”

“I do, Dante,” Vergil picked his magically spelled glasses, “I do. But we both did not see the body; it was as if it was swept away and there is the matter of your-”

“Of my amulet, I know, Vergil, but it could just be it was also broken. Under all that sudden pressure of demonic energy and whatever corruption Mundus did to me, to _that_ me.”

There was abhorrence in his little brother’s voice. Almost like the time he almost threw up when he still had a physical form and Vergil forced him to drink some of the brew he learned from their mother’s books, but stronger.

They were quiet for a while, the room filled with only the rustling pages and the streets below. Then Vergil fixed his glasses and moved from his seat to the chaise lounge.

He rested his head, the same tome on his stomach and spoke, “Even so, I would like to find the amulet, brother, because no one should have it other than a Son of Sparda,” he looked towards the ceiling, “I will not burden you with further inquiries because I do believe you, Dante. I really do, but let me do this, for myself and for yours.”

“Okay, Verg,” his brother said, “Okay. There’s nothing stopping you anyway, you stubborn bastard.” Dante chuckled, and Vergil could feel him retreating.

It was good that his brother did not oppose strongly on this matter, but there was that tone. An inflection that Vergil had grown to notice. It sounded as if Dante abnegated to save himself. To push away the alluringly deceptive notion of something more. Vergil could not fault him for that, having to witness such atrocity done to your own soul was something he was spared from, but not his brother, and he hated it. Though if he were given another chance to choose, he would do it all over again if it meant giving his brother a modicum of life. Dante would have been too young to just wither away, dying under excruciating and slow death to which he was undeserving of. Vergil could not, would not, have that.

He revisited certain places and ventured deeper than any other mortal dared to the newer ones. There were disappointments at the dead-ends and failed expectations, but there were also myriads of wonders and wisdoms. Vergil simmered in all of them, wasting nothing and let Dante enjoyed them as much as he could. His brother was the more adventurous one, always wanting to go further than him when they were allowed to play outside, always the one who poked Vergil with his incessant questions and hardy imaginations. Dante appeared to be delighted whenever they discovered something even mildly interesting, his presence prominent within Vergil that he could almost feel the torch lighting up just a little more.

But there was also still that carefulness, the discernable forbearance, and with it, Vergil came to note a new one below the surface. The indulgence, the kind that differed from what Dante usually gave. This was reminiscent of a parent sighing exasperatedly, fond, but still exasperated at children’s antics. Like their mother used to have when the two were especially entrenched deep into their little plays. And Dante gave it more and more as Vergil encountered nothing more and more, yet still stubborn.

It was bitter and smarted and dry, Vergil still swallowed it like the tablets.

“Aspirin?” His brother quipped. “Since when are you seasick?”

“It is not that,” he said, swiping stray strands from his face. “I think I’m just a bit tired, that is all.”

“Verg, you think you can handle this? The Protectors sound pretty gungho, you’re going to get busy soon,”

“What are you trying to say, Dante?”

“I’m just saying that you should save up energy and not staring out the sea like a weirdo, I’ve seen this million times already. Just go take a small nap before we arrive, will you?”

When the older one did not say anything or even moved in inch, Dante spoke again, “Your ass is going to get kicked so bad, I will be reminding you for a long, long time, Verg,”

“You would not.”

“Oh yeah? Try me, Verg, really, go ahead. Don’t forget I’m literally with you every second and trust me, I will savor the story of the time Vergil gets a booboo, I’ll make a wormhole.”

Clicking his tongue, Vergil pushed himself away from the railing and made to walk to his cabin. Passing Lucia who raised her brow at his frowning. He ignored her and after locking the door, laid down on the bed. Sighing at his brother’s smug echo, Vergil then closed his eyes.

\---

Vie de Marli was interesting and relatively helpful.

While he was there on the behest of the request, Matier provided more insight on the craft concerning purports of the pneuma. The fickleness and delicate practices that involved complete control if he wanted to manifest his will to find his objective in a condensed and corporeal contrivance.

“You seem to cherish that necklace of yours,” Lucia commented when he went with her to retrieve the Arcanas. She had been waiting outside when Vergil and Matier did their business.

Vergil looked down on the amulet and put it inside his shirt. Making sure it sat snug against his heart. “I am,” he said and walked on.

The job was lackluster afterwards if he must say.

There was this wealthy businessman with the most _boring_ intention he had ever known and so, so common he almost yawned. His foes were mildly entertaining, enough to break a sweat now and then, but still, it had been swift. The appearance of Argosax was almost appreciated at the lack of spice and heat. Dante was contently asleep, ignoring the ruckus as Yamato and Rebellion clashed against the demon. He had been ever since Vergil awoke and stepped on the island. Inattentive and not deeming it enough for even a small glance. He was still, Vergil could feel his brother’s stagnancy.

Good, his brother did not need to waste precious energy to witness this humdrum demon that legends raved about being the embodiment of evil and despair. They certainly hyperbolized it. Yamato slashed Argosax from top to bottom, ending its existence with Rebellion pinning it down. It had almost managed to completely retreated into the Underworld, but Vergil was fast to catch him. Yamato easily ripped open the chasm and Vergil knew he did not need to fret for an exit. He had his katana in hand, her useful trait with forming portals he had finally mastered.

Lucia was back in the Overworld. She was unneeded here, still reeling from the revelation as an artificial creation with all the emotions that came after such thing. He left her with Matier, knowing they would need private time to sort everything and Vergil did not want any part of it.

Now that his job was done and over with, he looked on the expanse his sight granted him. The Underworld was dark, dreary, and stunk with sulfurs and burnt carcasses. Desolation and pure savagery greeted him as he moved deeper, all the while holding out his amulet. Its red jewel did not glow or do anything, thus Vergil kept on moving. Sometimes he stopped to see if Dante was awake, but his brother did not budge at his nudging.

It was a few more prolonged moments with nothing happening with his amulet when Dante stirred.

“Verg? Where are we?” He asked and Vergil imagined he was rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“The Underworld,” he replied. “I already finished the job and now we are currently trying to look for your amulet.”

Dante sounded exasperatedly surprised. “Oh wow, you go this far? Come on, Verg, I don’t need it and it’s not like it’s really that important. I know mom gave it to us and it basically has its own unique properties but incomplete, it’s as good as junk anyway if it were still somehow existed.”

But Vergil kept on going, ignoring his brother’s many sighs.

“Verg, do you want to alert Mundus? Are you really that stupid?”

The older halfling kept on ignoring him.

“Suit yourself. Gods, you even make a homing spell with yours,” Dante said and shut himself off.

The landscape was rough and lacked any real direction. For humans, it might look frightening to see the distorted paths, but Vergil trudged on. Hand still on the amulet, adamant and fixated. At times, he encountered lesser demons, exterminating them swiftly without creating too much of a ruckus. He did need not more distractions.

Time was nonexistent for him; the Underworld never changed its sky. Dark red with faraway rumbling lightning. He kept on roaming the dimension, vision straight. A man on a mission.

Forever was tempting but Vergil was not one to lack self-control. Even if it meant swallowing his pride and obstinately extended the bridge for an acceptance of the reality. One that had licked his feet but refused to be acknowledged, not until he had exhausted every means and confidence. Until he wrung the very last drop of possibilities.

And it seemed now was the time to finally let the bell tolled.

He knelt in a seiza on the uneven ground. Yamato and Rebellion laid on his sides. He still palmed the amulet, its jewel never shone, never hummed. Nothing. It brought with it the last douse to his embers. That speck of maybe, just maybe, he did not destroy a part of his brother. No matter how many times he knew it was his brother’s wish.

But he had long stopped being a fool, and Vergil yielded at the end.

Dante was accepting, tending his aura to envelope Vergil, no matter how marginally he succeeded in it. The older twin closed his eyes, as of now training himself to acknowledge the complete acceptance. But not the resignation that Dante had long subsumed ever since Mallet. Vergil did not let himself be weighed down with the latter, having no right to feel as strongly in the despair his brother still swam in.

He wrapped his arms around himself, reciprocating his brother’s kind gesture. And he dashed the wistful thought of how much better he would feel if his arms were encircling another body. Warm and soft which Vergil could bury himself in. Resting his head on the shoulder, sighing, and could let the tremble in it shown.

Yet it was just him and Dante. A brother that was innocent in the plight he had to endure.

Vergil returned to the Human world. To the shop. To his son.

If Nero noticed the way he also held him tightly when the child had first thrown himself at him, he did not mention it. Only burying deeper and muttered his relief at having his father in one piece.

Vergil supposed this was enough. There were his son and most importantly, Dante was still here. Forever incomplete he may be. He still had something. As imperfect of a quota this was.

_From now on, this had to be enough._

_He shall never let go._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 13k for a chapter! :D  
> I just kept on typing and typing until I had to stop myself from reaching 20k and risked over spilling them here.
> 
> Now that you lovelies know partly what happened with Vergil and Dante, I can tell you about the inspiration for this story. Let me be clear that at first, this didn't strike me as such but when I was writing Chapter 3, I noticed I was subconsciously influenced by one of my fave shows - Le Chevalier d'Eon. It's an old anime series, but it has really good plot if you like historical mixed with the supernatural genre with small actions. The opening and ending are wonderful songs. If you have time, please give it a watch. It is an interesting twist to the historical figure D'eon de Beaumont. 
> 
> But the similarity ends only with the concept of it - twins with one housing the other's soul inside their body. 
> 
> Anyway, happy new year 2021. I know 2020 has been not that great, but here's a better hope and new perseverance!
> 
> Thank you for reading!  
> [My Twitter](https://twitter.com/blankballs) and [My Tumblr](https://cassia-bea.tumblr.com/)


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